Fallen Idols
Dean was driving the Impala down an empty road while Sam sat in the passenger's seat, Michelle in the back with a book open, reading it with a small penlight.
"So…" Sam began, laughing, just happy to be back with his brother and Michelle, "…what's with this job?"
"Dude suffers a head-on collision in a parked car?" Dean glanced at him, "I'd say that's worth checking out."
"Yeah, definitely, uh, but, uh, we got bigger problems, don't you think?" Sam argued lightly.
"I'm sure the Apocalypse'll still be there when we get back," Michelle smiled.
Sam couldn't help but smile at her as well, "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 cut in. It was true, he and Michelle had looked everywhere for that gun, even Michelle's contacts…which Dean had learned had been Castiel and one or two other angels this entire time…hadn't been able to find it.
"Ok," Sam nodded, "But Dean...I mean, if we're gonna…ice the devil…"
"This is what we're doing!" Dean snapped, "Ok? End of discussion."
"Dean!" Michelle chastised, looking up from her book to glare at him.
"What?" he demanded. But all he got was a smack on the back of the head with the book in Michelle's hand. He glared back at her to see her nod subtly at Sam, who was looking away out the window with a small frown on his face, he sighed, "It's just that this is our first real case, back at it, together. You know, I…I think we oughta ease into it, put the training wheels back on."
"So you think I need training wheels?" Sam looked over.
"No, 'we.'"
"It's true," Michelle cut in, "You wouldn't believe how rusty Dean's gotten the last couple hunts."
Dean just rolled his eyes as Sam laughed, "'We' need training wheels, you and me and Michelle. As a team. Ok?"
Sam nodded slowly, "Ok."
"Man, I really want this to be a fresh start, you know? For the both of us."
Michelle couldn't keep the smile off her face for the life of her. Finally it seemed like Dean was starting to forgive Sam. After he'd left those couple weeks, she'd done a lot of thinking about everything. She forgave him, probably the moment she'd learned that he'd held Ruby back so that Dean could stab her, finally killing the bitch. She'd been pissed that the Apocalypse had started, and yes a tiny part of her blamed Sam for not trusting her or listening to her or Dean about Ruby. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized, it was partially her fault.
If she hadn't have left him when Dean had died, Ruby would have never had the opportunity to dig her claws into Sam as deep as she had. And when she got back, she could have easily have done something different, something to stop Ruby. But she hadn't been 100 percent certain that Ruby was manipulating Sam until she'd seen the black blood when dealing with the ghouls. Killing her before then would have pushed Sam away completely, but by then it was too late. If she had been there, maybe this wouldn't have happened. But Dean would have broken the first seal, and the chain of events would have gone into motion anyway. At least she had been able to save the brothers from truly starting the Apocalypse even if they still blamed themselves.
She'd been trying to convince Dean throughout their hunts to go easy on Sam, or call him, or forgive him, to just try to be his brother again. He really would need Dean and her now more than ever. She'd even tried to guilt Dean by saying that Sam had gone down that dark road when they both hadn't been there for him, did he want that to happen again? It hadn't worked.
But now…it seemed like they were finally making progress!
"Ok," Sam smiled as well.
~8~
They'd made it to Canton, Ohio, relatively quickly, especially with Dean's driving, and were standing in the sheriff's department the next day in their suits, holding out their FBI badges at the sheriff to inspect.
"Agents Bonham, Copeland, and Ulrich" Dean introduced, flipping his badge closed and shaking the sheriff's hand much like Sam and Michelle did as well.
"Rick Carnegie," the sheriff greeted, "Good to know ya. So you're here on account of Cal Hawkins' death?"
"That's right," Michelle nodded.
"Well, 'fraid you came a long way for nothing. We already booked the guy that did it."
The trio frowned at each other, confused, had this really been an actual human case and not supernatural?
"I'm sorry, who do you think did it?" Sam turned back to the sheriff.
The sheriff just made a motion for them to follow him and led them to an interview room with a TV set up around a table. Sam, Dean, and Michelle sat down as the sheriff put in a tape and replayed the footage for them.
"Cal?" a man, Jim, the sheriff had told them, said over the video, clearly he was recording the whole thing. He walked into a garage, "Is something wrong?" and there was Cal, with his head smashed straight into the windshield as though impaled on it, "Oh my God, Cal. Cal!"
The video cut to static as the sheriff shook his head and turned off the TV, turning to them as he dropped the remote down on the table, "Sicko taped his own handiwork."
They glanced at each other, confused.
"I don't follow," Sam began.
"It was Jim Grossman that killed Cal."
"Wait, what?" Dean shook his head.
"Well, he was the only one on the scene for miles."
"They were best friends," Sam replied.
"Most violent crimes are committed by someone close to the victim," the sheriff shrugged.
"And how exactly did Jim slam Cal into a windshield with all the force of an 80-mile-per-hour crash?" Michelle frowned.
The sheriff could only blink at that, "Drugs, maybe?" she just raised an eyebrow. He sighed, "Look, you know this ain't brain surgery, guys! Whatever it looks like, that's what it usually is. It's simple."
"Simple," Dean nodded, speaking sarcastically, "Right."
"Right," Sam nodded along, "Um, if you don't mind, we'd like to speak to Jim Grossman anyway."
~8~
The sheriff couldn't do much to ignore a request from the FBI so he'd led them straight to Jim's holding cell, where Sam was sitting across from Jim with Dean and Michelle standing behind him on either side.
"I was in the house when it happened, I didn't even see it," Jim insisted.
"For argument's sake, say we believe you," Dean began.
"Why would you?" Jim scoffed, cutting him off, "The cops didn't."
"Well, we're not your typical cops," Sam replied.
"Please, just tell us what you saw," Michelle added with a reassuring smile.
Jim looked up at them before sighing, "It's not what I saw, it's what I heard," he admitted, "Tires squealing, glass breaking. It was the car that did it."
"The car?" Sam raised his eyebrows, much like Dean was behind him.
"I mean, I heard about the curse, but I just thought it was a load of crap…"
"Curse, what do you…what do you mean, 'curse?'" Dean began.
"The car. Little Bastard."
"Li…Little Bastard?" Dean looked stunned, "As in the Little Bastard?"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, uh, what's Little Bastard?" Michelle looked between the two men, confused.
"It's James Dean's car," Dean explained, "It's the one he was killed in."
"Yeah, that's the one," Jim almost smiled, "Cal had been looking for it for years. I mean, hell, we both had. But he found it first."
"Oh, we are definitely checking this out," Dean whispered loud enough for Sam and Michelle to hear him.
~8~
Dean walked around Little Bastard, now parked in an impound garage, staring at it in awe, but careful not to touch it. The windshield was bloodstained and had a piece missing from where Cal's head had been smashed into it.
"So, what, this is, like, 'Christine?'" Sam frowned.
Dean just shook his head, "'Christine' is fiction. This…this is real."
"Ok…" Michelle trailed, clearly not believing a word of it, "Enlighten me."
"Well after James Dean died. His mechanic bought the wreckage, and he fixed it up. And it repaid him...by falling on him. And Tony McHenry was killed when it locked up on the racetrack. I mean, death follows this car around like exhaust. Nobody touches it and comes away in one piece."
"Hmm," Sam nodded slowly, not quite believing it either. He glanced at Michelle to see her roll her eyes at his brother and smiled.
"Then, in 1970, it vanished off the back of a truck," Dean continued, not seeming to have noticed anything else as he continued to look at the car, "Nobody's ever seen it since. I'm telling you, man, if this…if this car is Little Bastard, I will bet you dollars to donuts it's what killed the guy."
"So how do we find out?" Michelle asked. For all her training, she knew how to change a tire, check fluids, drive, and hotwire a few cars, but little else in terms of the automobiles.
"Cal matched the VIN number, but the only real way to know is the engine number," Dean said, straightening up.
"I'm guessing the engine number is…" Sam nodded.
"On the engine," Dean swallowed hard, "Yeah."
~8~
They had been standing there, staring at the car a good ten minutes, neither Sam nor Dean making a move to check the engine numbers. The most they had done was take off their jackets and roll up their sleeves…and stare at the car in trepidation. Sam glanced at his brother, who took a step towards the car, before turning around quickly and let out a shaky breath. Sam looked over at Michelle, who rolled her eyes at his theatrics, before he turned to step next to his brother, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You want me to do it?"
"No," Dean said quickly, "No, no, I…I've got it."
He took another deep breath, closing his eyes to calm down for a minute or two, before turning around to see Michelle step back from the car and move to sit on a workbench to watch, what she was sure would be, a hilarious event.
"Ok, baby," Dean said to the car as he slowly approached it, "I'm not gonna hurt you, so...don't hurt me."
Sam rolled his eyes this time and moved to go lean against the bench where Michelle was sitting, unconsciously reaching out and placing a hand on her knee, making little circles with his thumb as they watched Dean.
Dean laid down on a roller board with a pencil in his mouth and a scrap of paper in his hands. He rolled himself under the car so he could see the number printed on the bottom of the engine. He tried to read the number...when the car shuddered, causing him to tense and look around as though he could see what was making it do it.
"Need a flashlight?" Sam suddenly appeared, lying on the ground next to the car.
Dean jumped, "No!" he shouted, his heart racing. He could hear Michelle laughing before he glared at his brother, "Don't...do anything, just go away."
"You…uh, ok?" Sam asked, trying hard to hide his smirk.
Dean was not amused, "Don't speak. Alright? In fact, don't even look at her, she might not like it."
Sam shook his head and stood back up. Dean waiting, listening as Sam walked away and then there was a slapping noise like two people high-fiving. He rolled his eyes, he would so get his brother back for planning that scare. He held up his piece of paper to the engine number as the car shuddered again. He hesitated, withdrawing the paper till the shuddering stopped, and reached out once more, but then he could hear a creaking.
He quickly rolled out from under the car and half-jumped away from it as soon as he was clear, breathing heavily, completely freaked out.
"Did you get it?" Sam asked. Dean let out a breath, shaking his head, "What now?"
Michelle simply held up a piece of paper as well. Both boys looked at her to see a rubbing of the engine number on there.
"What?" Dean breathed, his eyes wide.
"You boys are so slow!" she laughed.
"When?" Dean demanded.
"When you turned around to 'center yourself,'" she smirked, "I guess she swings on a different branch eh?" she held up the paper for him to see, "She likes me."
Dean strode forward and snatched it from her hands, examining the number, it was the same one he'd semi-managed to read off the engine before. He glared at Michelle a moment before shoving the number at Sam, "Find out who owned it. Not just the last owner, you gotta take it all the way back to 1955."
"That's a lot of research," Sam frowned.
"Well, I guess I just made your afternoon," Dean smirked at his brother before turning and walking off.
~8~
Sam leaned back and rubbed his eyes for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon. He'd headed back to the motel to get to work on running the numbers while Dean had claimed he and Michelle needed to check into something related to the case and dragged her off. Sam had a feeling Dean was only doing it to torture him, with Michelle there the research would have gone much faster.
He reached out and grabbed his phone, calling up Dean.
"Yo," Dean greeted.
"Hey," Sam said, "Took me a while, but I traced all the car's previous owners," he looked down at the pile of papers spread out before him.
"Any of 'em die bloody?"
"Nope. In fact…" he began, when he heard the sound of someone breaking a triangle of pool balls, "Dean…are you in a bar?"
"No, I…I'm…I'm in a restaurant," Dean tried to cover.
"Here's your beer," a woman said.
"Thanks," Dean replied to her before getting back to the phone, "That happens to have a bar."
"I've been working my ass off here," Sam grumbled.
"Oh don't worry I sent you a care package," Dean said, Sam could practically hear the smirk in his brother's voice.
"What?" Sam started to ask, when the door to the room opened. He turned to see Michelle enter with two take out bags of Chinese food. He couldn't help but smile at that.
"And I'm guessing it just arrived?" Dean laughed, "And besides, I spent the afternoon up Christine's skirt. I needed a drink."
"Actually, you didn't," Sam said, nodding his thanks to Michelle as she started pulling out the food for them.
"Meaning?"
"The car's first owner was a cardiologist in Philadelphia, drove it 'til he died in 1972."
"So you're saying…"
"That Porsche is not, nor has it ever been, James Dean's car. It's a fake Little Bastard."
"Well then what was it that killed the guy?"
"Good question," Sam sighed, clicking his phone closed as Michelle handed him a box of noodles and chopsticks, "Thanks," he smiled at her.
"No problem," she sat beside him, digging into her own box of fried rice.
"I thought you and Dean were interviewing Cal's wife?" Sam asked as he swallowed his mouthful.
Michelle rolled her eyes, "Dean said that as an excuse, we didn't even head to his house, he went straight for the bar," Sam laughed, "I could only take him flirting with ten women before I left and decided to get us some food."
"Well thanks again," he said, rubbing the back of his neck from where he'd gotten a crick being hunched over his laptop.
Michelle smiled softly and stood up, going behind him to try and help work out his muscles.
"You are a Godsend," he moaned as she massaged his muscles.
"Just so you know," she leaned down and whispered in his ear, "I expect payback, in full."
He could only groan in anticipation.
~8~
There was a call over the police scanner the next day about yet another murder, so Sam, Dean, and Michelle headed out to investigate. They came to the scene of the crime, an office in a house, where a police forensic squad was investigating and photographing the scene, the sheriff giving out orders as they entered.
"I want you to use a...a fine-tooth comb," the sheriff called, seeing them, "The evidence is here, we just gotta find it."
"Heard you got another weird one," Dean said as they headed over to the man.
"Uh, well, it's a…it's a little strange on the surface, I admit, but, uh...you know, once you…you look at the facts..." the sheriff began, struggling to make sense of it.
"William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head," Sam repeated the facts, "No gun, no gunpowder, no bullet."
"Nothing strange about that at all," Michelle commented.
"Well there's gotta be a reasonable explanation," the sheriff argued, "There always is."
"Well, what's your reasonable explanation?" Dean tried.
The sheriff looked around cautiously before leaning in and whispering,"Professional killer."
"Come again?" Michelle blinked.
"Well, CIA, NSA, one o' them trained assassins, like in 'Michael Clayton.'"
"Right," Dean nodded slowly, none of them believing the sheriff for a moment.
"You're welcome to look around, but…but these guys don't leave fingerprints," the sheriff nodded, as though he'd figured out the case.
"Mind if we talk with the witness?" Sam asked.
"Be my guest," he shrugged, "She's not making any sense! And she's not making any sense in Spanish either."
Dean nodded slowly, "Right…"
They headed out back to see a Hispanic woman sitting on a wooden bench outside the house, wrapped in a blanket and talking to a police officer, sobbing.
"No puedo vivir aquí," the woman was crying to the man, "Necesito mi familia. Me voy ahora. Me voy a la casa. No…me voy a la casa en El Salvador ahora."
Michelle frowned at that, the poor woman just wanted to go home.
"Consuela Alvarez?" Dean called as they stepped over to her.
"Yes?" she looked up.
"FBI," Dean said as they held out their badges to her, the officer left, "Now, uh, you said you saw something in the professor's house. Right? Something in the window?"
"Estaba sacando la basura," she nodded, "Imiré por la ventana y vi al hombre que mató al Señor Hill!"
The brothers looked at each other, not really understanding a word the woman was saying. Michelle rolled her eyes, she'd basically said she was taking out the garbage and saw the man who killed him through the window.
She was about to sit next to the woman, when Sam knelt down, "Uh, Señora Alvarez. Cálmese, por favor. Uh…" (calm down please).
He seemed to falter a bit at that and looked at Dean, a frown on his face.
"Lo siento mucho tener que preguntarle esto, pero nos puede decir lo que pasó?" Michelle said, shooing Sam away from the woman and sitting beside her.
The boys looked at her, stunned, "I'm very sorry to have to ask you this, but can you tell us what happened?" she repeated to them in English.
Dean grinned, "Nice."
"Training," she shrugged, turning back to the woman who nodded, "Se le ocurrió a ver quién era?"
Dean looked over at Sam for this one, seeing Michelle at work, "Did you happen to see who it was?" Sam guessed, it sounded right.
Consuela nodded, "Era alto. Muy alto. Y llevaba el abrigo negro largo y tenía bigotes."
"He was tall," Michelle translated for them, "Very high. And wearing a long black coat and had a mustache…uh, a beard?"
Consuela nodded, "Y un sombrero."
"Dude was wearing a sombrero?" Dean frowned.
"And a hat," Michelle corrected, turning to Consuela, "Qué tipo de sombrero?"
"What sort of hat?" Sam translated for Dean.
"Un sombrero alto," the woman replied.
"A tall hat," Michelle answered.
"Oh, like a top hat," Dean guessed.
"Un sombrero alto," Consuela repeated, gesturing high above her head, "Muy alto!"
"A very high hat," Michelle nodded.
"What, you mean like a…like a stovepipe hat?" Dean asked, imitating the gesture.
"Sí," Consuela said.
"Yes," Michelle translated.
"Yeah, thanks, got that one on my own," Dean smirked, "Like Abraham Lincoln."
As Michelle shrugged, Consuela burst into tears again, "Sí. El Presidente Lincoln," Michelle's eyes widened as Dean and Sam looked confused, "Abraham Lincoln kill Mister Hill!"
"Huh," Dean breathed as Michelle reached out to rub circles on the woman's back.
"So I go home now?" she asked.
"Sí, muchas gracias por su tiempo," Michelle nodded, "Yes, thank you very much for your time."
"Gracias," Sam and Dean said at the same time.
"Y si necesita algo o tiene algo más que añadir por favor no dude en llamar," Michelle said, handing the woman a card before she left, she turned to the boys to see them staring at her, she rolled her eyes, "And if you need anything or have something else to add, please don't hesitate to call."
They nodded.
~8~
Back in the motel, Sam and Dean were sitting at the table, Sam on his laptop, looking at a webpage about Lincoln, with Dean on another laptop which the sheriff had loaned them to review the footage. Michelle was sitting back on the second bed with a set of notes about the case.
Dean frowned, seeing something in a frame and paused the video, backing up, frame-by-frame, till a figure in a red jacket appeared reflected in the chrome of a car wheel.
"Whoa," Dean breathed. Sam and Michelle looked up.
"What?" Sam asked.
Dean took a moment going back and forth between the frames once more before holding the laptop up and turning it around to show Sam. Michelle got up and went to stand behind Sam, leaning over to see the frame as well.
"It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video," Dean said, "Am I crazy, or does that look like James Dean?"
"That looks like James Dean," Sam nodded.
They looked over at Michelle for confirmation, "No idea who he is so I wouldn't know," she shrugged.
Dean's eyes widened comically and he looked like he was about to start sputtering about that.
Seeing his brother about to go into what would be a long lecture about who James Dean was, Sam quickly spoke up, "So we got Abraham Lincoln and James Dean?"
"Famous ghosts?" Dean suggested.
"Maybe," Michelle frowned, there was something nagging her about that…it just didn't seem to fit quite right.
"Well that's just silly," Dean agreed, contradicting himself.
"No, actually there is a ton of lore on famous ghosts," Michelle shrugged, thinking about all the rumors of White House ghosts and others that haunted famous landmarks.
"More than the, you know, not-famous kinds," Sam agreed, "I'm actually surprised we haven't run into one before."
"Yeah, but now we got two of 'em?" Dean countered, "Two extremely pissed-off ghosts?"
"Who are apparently ganking their fans."
"What do you mean?" Michelle looked over at him.
Sam leaned to the side showing her a webpage of professor Hill's, all about Lincoln, "Professor Hill was a Civil War nut. He dug Lincoln."
"And Cal must've been a James Dean freak," Dean nodded slowly, "He spent seventeen years of his life tracking down the guy's car. So you're saying we've got two super-famous, super-pissed-off ghosts killing their...super-fans?"
Sam could only shrug, "That's what it looks like."
"Well, that is muchos loco," Dean sighed.
"'Muy,'" Sam corrected with a grin, Dean just looked up, "Not 'muchos.'"
"Muchos means many," Michelle agreed, "Muy means something like very," she smiled, "Tonto."
Sam just managed to hide his grin at her calling his brother stupid.
"What?" Dean frowned.
"I said got it?" she repeated, smirking as Sam tried to hide a snort of laughter.
"Oh…" Dean nodded, "Yeah."
"Mamón," Michelle smiled, nodding, knowing only Sam would know she'd just called Dean a sucker.
Dean had a vague feeling that he was the center of a joke, especially when Sam burst out laughing, "Yeah…well, the big question is, what the hell are they doing here?"
Michelle nodded, "Ghosts usually haunt the places they live."
"I mean, I…I get Abraham Lincoln at the White House…" Sam agreed.
"And James Dean at a race track, but...what the hell are they doing in Canton?" Dean frowned.
~8~
Sam was still working on his laptop, while Dean stood by the sink, drinking a can of soda, Michelle sitting across from Sam with two books out before her.
"You gotta be kidding me," Sam muttered as he stopped typing.
"What?" Michelle looked up. She and Dean made their way over to stand behind Sam, looking down at the website he'd found.
"You gotta be kidding me," Dean repeated.
~8~
Sam had found a wax museum in town that had exhibits of, you guessed it, Lincoln and James Dean, among others. They were currently walking through the museum, looking at the figures. Sam walked with Michelle past JFK and Nixon, before stopping at Lincoln, Dean frowning at Gandhi.
"Dude, he's short," Dean commented.
"Hey," Sam called, frowning, "Gandhi was a great man."
"Yeah, for a Smurf," Dean retorted just as the museum's owner came down the stairs at a half-jog over to them, slightly out of breath. He was wearing a leather jacket as he smiled at them.
"Sorry to keep you waiting, this is our busiest time of the year," he grinned.
Dean looked around at the empty rooms, "This is busy?"
"Well, not right now, but it's early," the owner tried to wave it off.
"It's 4:30," Dean commented, looking at his watch.
"So, what can I do for you?" the owner changed the topic.
"Uh, well…" Sam began.
"We are writing a piece for 'Travel Magazine,'" Michelle cut in.
"Yeah, on how, uh, totally non-sucky wax museums are," Dean smiled.
Michelle's face tensed at that. That was it. After this was over, she was giving them a lesson in how to not screw up the cover-ups or interviews.
"That's fantastic," the owner seemed not to notice, "A little press, just what we need."
"Great," Sam nodded, "Well we're interested in a few of your exhibits, specifically Abraham Lincoln and, uh, James Dean."
"Two of our most popular displays."
"Oh yeah?" Sam asked, feigning interest, "So they bring in a lot of visitors?"
"Yeah, we have our regulars."
"I don't suppose that, uh, William Hill and Cal Hawkins were regulars, were they?" Dean asked.
"As a matter of fact, they were. Yeah, I heard what happened to them. It's tragic, just tragic. Oh…you…that's not gonna be in the article, is it?"
"No," Michelle reassured him, "Of course not."
"You know, I gotta tell you, that…that Lincoln is so lifelike, I mean, you…I mean, you can just imagine him moving around," Dean nodded over to it, "You ever see anything like that?"
"Uh…no," the owner frowned.
"No?" Dean frowned as well.
"Well, um, is there anything you could think of that would make your museum...unusual?" Michelle tried, "You know, for the article?"
"Well, I'll say," the owner beamed, "There isn't another place like us, not anywhere."
"How so?" Dean asked.
"Well, for one, that's Honest Abe's real hat," the owner replied, pointing at Lincoln.
"It is?" Sam's eyes widened at that little tidbit.
"Almost like his remains," Dean looked pointedly at Sam.
Michelle just let her head fall onto Sam's shoulder and shook her head.
"Uh...I guess?" the owner frowned.
Dean just grinned.
"You wouldn't happen to have any of James Dean's personal effects, would you?" Sam asked, trying to steer the conversation towards the remains without actually calling them that.
"Ooh, yeah," the happy owner was back, "Got his keychain. We got a bunch of stuff, uh, Gandhi's bifocals, FDR's iron lung. This," he indicated his jacket.
"And who did that belong to?" Sam asked.
"The Fonz," the owner grinned, giving them a double thumbs up, "Seasons two through four!"
"Please tell me you know who the Fonz is," Dean turned to Michelle, but the look on her face was all he needed to know that she did not, in fact, know who he was.
"Wow…" Sam nodded, trying again to get the conversation back to the point, "Yeah, that's…that's really cool...ish."
"This?" the owner waved him off, "This is nothing. I've been working on a new collection of figures. Stuff that'll really wow the kids."
"The kids?" Michelle asked.
"Yeah, Gen Y," the owner nodded as did Dean, "Computer games, cell phones, sexting," Dean raised his eyebrows as the owner scoffed, "They're just fads. I'm gonna make wax museums hip again."
The owner just grinned and gave them another double thumbs up which made Dean laugh while Sam returned the gesture, Michelle just looking confused as to why they were doing that.
~8~
Back at the motel that night, Sam was outside by the Impala, reloading the shotguns with rock salt shells, looking around, trying to make sure no one could see him, before putting the guns back in the trunk and shutting it, heading back to the room. He opened the door quietly to see Dean on the cell phone, facing out the window, his back to the door.
"Yeah, Abraham Lincoln and James Dean, can you believe that?" he was asking someone over the phone, "Why so kill-crazy? Ah, maybe the Apocalypse has got 'em all hot and bothered. Yeah, well, we all know whose fault that is..."
Sam began to frown when, out of nowhere, a book suddenly flew through the air and hit Dean square on the back of the head.
"Ow!" Dean shouted, turning to his right to glare at Michelle, sitting on the second bed, glaring back at him, "What the hell was that for?" he demanded, when he turned back to the phone, "No, Michelle didn't smack me again...she threw a book at me this time...no, I'm not gonna tell her to smack me for you Bobby," he sighed, "...well I'm sorry, but it's true."
Sam just shut the door loudly, causing Dean to turn sharply to face him. He could see Michelle lean forward to see around a small corner who had entered, even though it was most likely him.
"I'll call you later," Dean said quickly, "Bye," he snapped the phone shut and turned to Sam.
"What's going on?" Sam asked.
"Did you get the trunk packed up?"
"Yeah, trunk's packed. Who was on the phone?"
"Bobby," Michelle said, "Dean likes to keep him up-to-date and get his opinion on hunts and things."
"And?" Sam shook his head, waiting for more.
"Nothing," Dean sighed.
Sam rolled his eyes, "So we're just gonna pretend I didn't hear what I just heard?"
Dean shrugged, "Pretend or don't pretend. Whatever floats your boat."
He could hear Michelle sigh and looked over to see her shaking her head, apparently this sort of topic came up a lot when he was gone.
"This was supposed to be a fresh start, Dean," Michelle reminded him.
Dean just picked up his jacket, "Well, this is about as fresh as it gets. Now are we going or not?"
He walked out the door, leaving Sam to watch him go. He let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping, when a hand gently toughed his shoulder, "Ignore him," Michelle told him with a smile, "If he keeps doing this I'm just going to have to beat some sense into him…again."
Sam couldn't help but laugh at that. He could recall one particular hunt they had been on just before Bobby had gotten the lead on Lilith before Dean went to Hell. He'd given Sam a hell of a time on the hunt, trying to let him do it all since he wouldn't be there to watch his brother's back anymore. Michelle had flipped and basically beaten him into the ground before Dean realized he had to get his head back on straight and keep fighting.
That had been something to see, almost as good as when she had knocked Dean out with one firm punch when he'd gotten infected with Ghost Sickness.
"Let's go," she nodded towards the door.
Sam nodded as well, reaching down to take her hand in his as the walked out after Dean.
~8~
They walked through the wax museum that night, past Gandhi, and over to Lincoln. Dean reached out and took off his hat while Sam got a metal trashcan, and Michelle put the salt, gas, and lighter on a chair. They looked up to see Dean wearing Lincoln's hat, nearly drowning in it.
"Check it out," he grinned, lowering his voice as he impersonated Lincoln, "Four score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat."
"Dean," both Sam and Michelle said, unimpressed.
Michelle stepped forward and held out a hand for the hat, fixing Dean with a chastising look.
"We can't have any fun with this?" he frowned.
"No," she said as he took off the hat and tossed it into the can instead.
"Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts, get outta here," Sam agreed, "Ok?"
"I'll go grab 'East of Eden's' keychain," Dean sighed, walking off into the next room.
Sam scanned the room while Michelle pulled out a shotgun and held it ready, if the ghosts knew they were coming then they would be out for blood soon. Sam just looked around, his eyes landing on Lincoln and narrowing. He slowly made his way closer to the statue, his gaze fixed firmly on it, just waiting for it to make a move. Michelle, seeing this, kept her attention on Sam as well, lest Lincoln try to off him as well.
Suddenly there was a slam.
They spun around to see that the doors Dean had gone through had slammed shut.
"Dean?" Sam called, heading over to the doors, trying them, "Dean?"
They didn't budge.
"Sam," Michelle called.
He turned around to see her breath condensing in front of her. They quickly made their way over to Lincoln, just waiting for him to attack, when there was a creak to the left. They turned and the shotgun flew out of her hands, leaving them defenseless.
They were still a moment, before Gandhi jumped onto Sam's back.
"Sam!" Michelle shouted, about ready to try and grab Gandhi off him.
"Get the gun!" Sam yelled as he struggled with Gandhi.
Michelle nodded and ran off, trying to find the guns as Gandhi wrapped his arms around Sam's neck. Sam managed to slam him into the wall, knocking him off. He turned, he and the ghost beginning to circle each other. Suddenly Gandhi scrambled under Sam's legs and jumped on his back again. Sam threw himself backwards and crashed through a table, forcing Gandhi to let go for only a moment before he was back on Sam's back and trying to strangle him.
A second later there was a shot and Gandhi was blasted back. Sam looked up, gasping, to see Michelle with the shotgun moments before Dean burst through the double doors.
"Dean!" Sam shouted.
"Is that Gandhi?" Dean's eyes widened, seeing the ghost now crouching, waiting for another opening to attack.
Gandhi lunged, grabbing onto Sam yet again, clinging to his back as he tried to throw him off again.
"Dude, he's squirrelly!" Dean shouted, watching the man cling to his brother's back.
"Get the bifocals!" Michelle called, running behind Sam so she could blast the ghost.
Dean ran over to the statue as Michelle aimed, "Get the what?"
"Glasses!" Michelle yelled, firing at Gandhi who, shockingly, didn't disappear but instead let go of Sam and turned to snarl at her.
Dean grabbed the glasses off the statue and ran back to the trash can, glancing up as he began pouring the items into it to see Gandhi circling Michelle as Sam gasped for breath. He quickly lit the lighter and threw it in as well.
Sam and Michelle watched as the figure of Gandhi just disappeared from view, flickering out really.
"You couldn't have been a fan of someone cool?" Dean asked, looking over at Sam as Michelle helped him up, "Really? Gandhi?"
~8~
They were packing up the motel room the next day, Dean grabbing his shirts out of a drawer and shoving them into his bag as Sam got the bathroom stuff and Michelle gathered up her books and research.
"Ready to blow this joint?" Dean asked as Sam came out of the bathroom, zipping up the toiletries bag.
"Dean, didn't it strike you as strange the way Gandhi just...vanished?" Sam asked.
"Strange how?"
"No screaming, no big flame-out, I mean, that isn't the way ghosts usually go."
"Still, I torched, he vanished."
"Yeah, but I…also, I feel like he was...trying to take a bite out of me."
"A bite?"
"Yeah, like he was hungry. But the thing is, Gandhi…or, the real Gandhi…he was a…"
Sam trailed off, earning Dean's attention, "A what?" Sam hesitated, "Spit it out."
"He was a fruitarian."
Dean just stared at Sam a moment before bursting out with laughter, "Let me get this straight. Your, uh, ultimate hero was, not only a short man in diapers, but he was also a fruitarian?"
"Knock it off Dean," Michelle said, elbowing him in the side as she stepped over.
"That's not the point," Sam rolled his eyes.
"That is good," Dean laughed, "That is…even for you, that is good."
"Look, I'm just saying, I'm not so sure this thing is over."
Dean spread his arms out in question, "It was a ghost. It was a weirdly super-charged fruitarian ghost, but it was still a ghost. Now let's go."
"So first you drag me into town, and now you're dragging me back out?" Sam asked as Dean picked up his bag.
"You ain't steering this boat. Let's go, chop chop," he headed towards the door.
"I think I'm steering actually," Michelle called, Dean stopped and turned around.
"Excuse me?" he asked.
Michelle just smirked and held up her hand, revealing Dean's keys dangling from her finger.
Dean's eyes widened as he began to pat his pockets, "Give it back."
"I agree with Sam," she said, still holding the keys, "The ghost…it couldn't be a ghost. I blasted it with rock salt Dean, it didn't disappear. It just got mad and turned on me. And, in any universe, that doesn't happen."
"Like I said, someone supercharged them," Dean rolled his eyes.
"It worked on the witnesses," Michelle reminded him, "They vanished and they were super-powered ghosts conjured by a super-powered demon. Doesn't get any more powerful than that."
"Keys," was all he said. Michelle sighed and tossed them to him, he turned and walked towards the door once again.
"You know, this isn't gonna work," Sam called over to him.
Dean stopped and turned around, "What isn't?"
"Us," Sam sighed, "You, me, together, I…I thought it could, but it can't."
"You're the one that wanted back in, chief."
"And you're the one who called me back in."
"I don't think he meant it like that Dean," Michelle cut in.
"I still think we got some trust building to do," Dean replied.
"How long am I gonna be on double-secret probation?" Sam asked.
Dean shrugged, "Till I say so."
"Look," Sam said seriously, "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."
Michelle stepped forward and took Sam's hand.
"So what am I supposed to do, just let you off the hook?" Dean nearly glared, "For whatever reason, I know Michelle's forgiven you, but me, I'm having a little more trouble."
"No," Sam said quickly, "You can think whatever you want. I deserve it, and worse," he glanced down at Michelle, knowing in his heart that he didn't deserve her after everything he'd done, "Hell, you'll never punish me as much as I'm punishing myself, but the point is, if we're gonna be a team, you and I…" he swallowed hard, not wanting to get into another argument.
"It has to be a two-way street Dean," Michelle said for him, "You want to start fresh, you and Sam, it can't just be Sam doing all the work."
"So we just go back to the way we were before?" Dean raised an eyebrow.
"No, because we were never that way before," Sam replied, "Before didn't work," Dean frowned, "How do you think we got here?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Dean," Sam swallowed hard and let go of Michelle's hand, stepping back just a bit, "One of the reasons I went off with Ruby...was to get away from you."
"What?" Dean breathed, stunned.
"It made me feel strong," Sam admitted, "Like I wasn't your kid brother. Like I was strong enough to take on the world on my own. Like…" he glanced at Michelle, "Like I was able to take care of Michelle, to protect her."
"Are you saying this is our fault?" Dean asked, glancing over at Michelle, who actually looked at bit stunned at the news.
"I can take care of myself Sam," she said softly.
"No, no, I know," he said quickly, looking at her, "I just…I wanted to be able to know that, if something ever happened to you, I'd be able to take care of you, protect you when you couldn't protect yourself," he sighed and looked over at Dean, "And 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 began but then Dean's cell rang.
"Yeah?" Dean said, answering it, before looking up at Sam and Michelle and then away again, "Yeah. Yeah, ok," he hung up, "I guess you were right about this not being over."
~8~
They were back in the sheriff's department, back in their suits, walking in and straight over to the sheriff, who was sitting at his desk.
"Sheriff Carnegie?" Sam called.
"Sheriff, what happened?" Dean asked.
"I, uh, uh..." he trailed, shrugging and shaking his head, "I don't know!"
He just motioned to an interview room where two young women were sitting at a table, crying. They exchanged looks before heading in.
"Excuse us, girls," Dean greeted, "Hi, we're with the FBI."
"Can you tell us what happened?" Michelle asked gently.
"It was horrible!" the first girl cried.
"Way horrible," the second one agreed.
"What was horrible?" Sam frowned.
"I thought she'd be nice!" the first girl continued.
"I still can't believe it," the second girl looked over at her friend.
"Believe what?" Dean shook his head, not following.
"She took Danielle!"
"Who?" Sam asked
The girls looked at each other, unsure of whether to continue.
"It's ok, you're safe, just...tell us," Michelle reassured them, "Who took your friend?"
"It was...Paris Hilton," the first girl said.
The boys just stared at them while Michelle looked confused.
"Sorry?" Sam shook his head.
"She looked really good, though," the second girl continued.
"Skinny!" the first girl agreed.
"Skinny and fast."
"Mhmm."
"What…wait…huh?" Dean was at a loss for words.
"Uh, um...where did they go?" Sam tried to form a coherent sentence.
"We don't know," the first girl shook her head.
"They just vanished," the second girl gasped.
"Would you excuse us for just a minute?" Michelle nodded at them before pulling the boys back into the doorway to speak in the hall, "Paris Hilton?" she whispered to them, "Is she a dead, famous person?"
"Hotel heiress," Sam said quickly, "Bit of an actress, most girls gossip about her."
"Paris Hilton's not dead as far as we know, right?" Dean looked up at Sam.
"Pretty sure, no."
"Which means it's not a ghost," Michelle turned to Dean and gave him a look.
He sighed, "No," he agreed, "So, what? Paris Hilton is a homicidal maniac…"
"Or we missed something," Sam said.
"We had to," Michelle said, "Paris Hilton isn't Lincoln or James Dean…or Ghandi."
"What do you wanna do?" Dean asked them.
"We need to look at the bodies," Michelle decided after a moment, "Maybe there's something on them that can give us a hint."
Dean nodded, "Well, you two have fun with that," Dean smirked, heading back in to talk to the girls, leaving Sam and Michelle to go hunt down the morgue.
~8~
Sam headed out of the morgue and over to where Michelle and Dean were sitting. When he'd found out that during the last few hunts, when it had just been Michelle and Dean, Dean had made Michelle do most of the morgue visits, Sam had offered to go this one solo, give her a break. She'd offered to look over the notes of the hunt once more for anything they may have missed in the meantime.
"I can't believe I missed it," Sam sighed as he walked over to Dean and Michelle by the Impala.
"Missed what?" Michelle asked.
"Went back over the other two vics. There was blood loss. Major."
"Oh, well, being a gory smear will do that to you," Dean rolled his eyes.
"No, I…I mean more blood loss than a…a car crash or a head wound should cause, almost like it…"
"Something's feeding," Michelle finished, her mind already racing on the various creatures that could possibly do something like this.
"Yeah."
"Awesome," Dean rolled his eyes.
"And then…" he pulled out a plastic bag, "There were these."
Dean and Michelle frowned, looking at the bag, seeing two round objects in them.
"What are those, seeds?" Michelle squinted at them.
"Yeah," Sam nodded, "They were in both vics' bellies."
Dean quickly dropped the hand that had taken a hold of the corner of the bag for a closer look, "I hope you washed your hands."
"They're unlike any seed I've ever seen before, Dean," Sam rolled his eyes.
"Wow, just when I thought you couldn't get any geekier," Dean smirked, patting Sam's shoulder.
"I'll do the research on this one Sam," Michelle said, taking the bag from him, "Give you a break," she winked, shooting his own words back at him.
~8~
They were back in the hotel room, Michelle on Sam's laptop at the table while Dean sat at the couch with a beer, watching TV. Sam was sitting on the bed, one of Michelle's archaic Bibles in his lap, frowning as he tried to make sense of them himself. He had to admit he was curious as to what they said. She had so many different versions, in many different languages. But, so far, he could barely make out a recognizable word.
"Training," came Michelle's sing-song voice.
He looked up to see her smirking up at his confused expression. He just sighed and put the book down, "Found anything?"
"Yup," she popped the p.
"What?" Dean called, getting up to look at the laptop along with Sam.
"The seeds aren't from around here," she told them, showing them a page of a forest with the seeds popped up in another window, "In fact, they're not from any tree or plant in the country."
"Where are they from?" Sam asked.
"Eastern Europe. From a forest in the Balkans, which isn't even there anymore. It was chopped down 30 years ago…which explains why I didn't recognize the seeds…"
"You've been to the Balkans?" Sam asked her, looking down, impressed.
"Once," she nodded, "I was fourteen, it was for Easter."
"So?" Dean said, getting back on track.
"So," Michelle laughed, "Local legend has it that the forest was guarded by a pagan god whose name was Leshi. A mischievous god, could take on infinite forms."
"And let me guess. He liked to munch on his fans."
Michelle could only nod as Sam laughed, "Could be appeased only with the blood from his worshippers. It would drain them, then stuff their stomachs with the seeds."
"So how's he doing it?" Sam frowned, "What, he touches James Dean's keychain and then morphs into James Dean?"
"It's as good a guess as any."
"Wait," Dean cut in, his eyes wide, "You…don't know?" Michelle looked up at him, "YOU don't know. The walking encyclopedia of lore doesn't know?" he smirked, looking at Sam, "I am so writing this day down. We are celebrating it next year."
"I'll bake a pie," Michelle laughed, shaking her head.
"How do we kill him?" Sam asked, getting back on point.
"Says here to chop off his head with an iron axe," Michelle sighed, turning back to the computer.
Dean nodded, "Alright. Let's go gank ourselves a Paris Hilton."
~8~
They broke into the wax museum once again that night, Dean carrying the axe while Sam had out a flashlight and Michelle her gun at the ready, this time loaded with iron bullets. Both boys had wanted to ask how she'd swung that one but just decided to leave it alone, it probably had something to do with her training anyway and she never really got too into exactly what that entailed.
They passed a now hatless Lincoln before splitting up, each checking separate rooms in search of Leshi. Sam stopped before a door with a sign posted on it 'Sorry for the inconvenience, CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS' along with 'DANGER: DO NOT ENTER' written below it.
He looked over his shoulder and let out a little whistle, Michelle and Dean quickly heading over to him.
They looked at each other, each nodding, before breaking the latch and opening the door, pushing past a plastic sheet to reveal a room decorated like a clearing in the woods, complete with a path leading up the middle to a white house with a wax figure of a man standing in a suit on the front porch.
Michelle looked to the side to see a young woman standing tied to a tree, her eyes widened as she realized it must be the missing girl, Danielle.
"Hey," she hissed, rushing over to her and checking her pulse.
"She alive?" Dean called quietly, both he and Sam watching her back.
"Yeah," she nodded, turning back to them, "Barely."
Suddenly the axe flew out of Dean's hand and embedded itself in a tree on the other side of the path. Dean spun around, following it, only to find Paris Hilton standing behind him. She grinned and punched him a few times in the face before sending him to the ground.
Sam ran forward, seeing that this had to be Leshi. She just flipped her hair and shoved him backwards, flinging him across the room to collide with the front wall of the house, falling down, unconscious.
Leshi turned around, only to be punched across the face by Michelle and kicked in the stomach. She stumbled back, clearly startled that a human had gotten the best of her, before she threw her arm out, sending Michelle flying, her back crashing into a tree as she crumpled to the ground with a groan.
Dean looked up to see Leshi now standing over him.
"Awesome," she smiled, before raising her stiletto clad foot and stomping on his face.
~8~
They slowly came to, to find themselves tied to three trees in the room, Leshi sitting on a tree stump near the house with another stump serving as a table next to her. On the second stump were a series of knives, one which she picked up and began to file her nails on, causing small sparks with ever stroke. Dean looked at either side of him to see Michelle to his left and Sam on his right, both struggling to get out of the ropes that bound them like he was.
"Oh," Leshi looked up, "I'm so glad you're awake for this. This is gonna be huge."
They exchanged a look before Dean glared at her, "Super. Yeah, I wouldn't wanna miss it."
Michelle took a breath, closing her eyes as she began to slowly maneuver her hands, pulling and stretching the ropes as she worked.
"I mean, I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately," Leshi continued, "So it's nice to do the ritual right. Prepare a nice, slow meal for a change."
"Just like the good old days, huh?" Sam asked.
"You have no idea," she sighed, "People adored me. They used to throw themselves at me, with smiles on their faces."
"Yeah, I guess these days nobody gives a flying crap about some backwoods forest god, huh?" Dean spat.
Leshi stopped filing her nails and glared at him threateningly, "No. Not since they cut down my forest and built a Yugo plant."
"March of progress, sister," Dean remarked, glancing to his side to see Michelle frowning, her eyes still closed.
"For years now, I've been wandering," Leshi commented, resuming her nail filing, "Hungry. Scared. Scrounging for scraps. So not sexy. But then, the best thing ever happened," she put the knife down and smirked, "Someone tripped the Apocalypse. And I thought, what the hell, I'm tired of watching what I eat. I wanna pig out. So I found this little place. It's awesome. Adoring fans stroll right in the door."
"Yeah," Sam shook his head, "But they're not your fans."
"So?" she shrugged, "They worship Lincoln, Gandhi, Hilton...whatever. I'll take what I can get."
"You know, I gotta tell you, you are not the first god we've met, but you are the nuttiest," Dean told her.
"No, you, you people, you're the crazy ones," she replied, seriously, "You used to worship gods. But this?" she gestured to herself, "This is what passes for idolatry? Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans?" Sam frowned as Dean raised his eyebrows, nodding, actually agreeing, "You people used to have old-time religion. Now you have 'Us Weekly.'"
"I don't know, I'm more of a 'Penthouse Forum' man myself," Dean shrugged, winking and clicking his tongue at her.
Leshi got up and stalked over to them, "Maybe, but...there's still a lot of yummy meat on those bones, boy."
"Pity you can't eat him though," Michelle commented. Dean looked over to see her eyes open and watching Leshi critically.
"Right," he nodded, smirking, "I'm not a Paris Hilton BFF."
"He's never even seen 'House of Wax.'"
Leshi tilted her head as she looked at Michelle, before walking over to stand before her, Sam and Dean struggling more at the move, "No…" she agreed, "He's not, and neither are you I take it?"
Michelle nodded.
"Interesting…" Leshi commented, "I can't quite see your hero…" she glanced over at Dean, "See I can totally read his mind," she smirked, "I know who your hero is Dean…or should I say heroes?" she laughed, "One of them's your daddy. Am I right?" Dean didn't reply, "And that thing belonged to him," she looked back at the axe, "Didn't it? Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol. One distant father figure, coming right up."
"Hey!" Michelle shouted.
Leshi looked back at the girl, only for the woman to lift her feet off the ground, using the ropes tying her to the tree as leverage to kick the woman in the chest, sending her sprawling backwards, not having expected that. Even more unexpected was when her feet returned to the ground and the ropes seemed to fall down, no sign of being broken or cut. Michelle wasted no time before kneeling and grabbing a knife from her ankle and running to Dean and Sam, cutting their ropes.
Dean rushed forward, almost making it to the axe, when Leshi reached out and grabbed his leg, pulling him to the ground. She crawled on top of him, punching him, when suddenly a shot rang out. Leshi looked down to see a wound in her stomach as an iron bullet ripped through her. She looked back to see Michelle had fired and Sam had just pulled the axe out of the tree. She fell backwards in pain, Dean rolling away moments before Sam swung the axe at her, hacking at her neck till he'd managed to behead the god.
The head rolled off to the side with Sam panting in exertion, his face covered with blood. Dean looked up from his place on the ground as Michelle walked over with a handkerchief and began trying to help Sam clean the blood off his face.
Sam looked down at his brother, smirking, only for Dean to hold up a finger, "Not a word."
"Dude," Sam laughed, "You just got whaled on by Paris Hilton!"
"Shut up," Dean glared before falling back to the ground, grunting a bit in pain. He didn't last long there as Michelle made her way over to him and helped pull him to his feet, "How the hell'd you get out anyway?" Dean looked at her, glancing at the ropes lying on the ground around her tree.
She shrugged, "Little trick I picked up in China, stretch the ropes."
~8~
The next day Sam and Dean were standing at the trunk of the Impala, putting their bags back, waiting for Michelle who was signing them out.
"Uh huh," Dean nodded as he spoke on the cell phone, "Alright. Thank you," he clicked the phone shut and turned to Sam, "Sheriff Carnegie. Danielle's gonna be alright. She's sworn off 'The Simple Life,' but other than that…"
"Glad she's ok," Sam smiled.
"It gets better. Sheriff's putting out an APB on Paris Hilton," he laughed, "That oughta be good."
They were silent for a moment before Sam turned to his brother, "So who's your other hero?"
"What?" Dean looked over at him.
Sam smirked, "Back in the wax museum, Leshi said dad was one of your heroes, plural."
"Yeah, and?" Dean shook his head.
Sam rolled his eyes, "Who's the other one?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
Sam frowned but then saw that Dean was looking at something a little ways away. He followed his brother's gaze to see him watching Michelle, checking them out at the front office, and couldn't help but smile, "Michelle?"
Dean shrugged, "Can you think of anyone better to believe in?"
Sam smiled softly at that and shook his head, no he couldn't.
Dean sighed after a moment, "Hey, listen, I was thinking about what you and Michelle said yesterday. About me keeping too tight of a leash on you," Sam looked over at him, "Hell, maybe you're right. I mean, look, I'm not exactly Mister Innocent in this whole mess either, you know. I did almost break the first seal."
"But you didn't," Sam reminded him, trying to comfort his brother.
"Yeah, well, you didn't break the last one either," Dean countered, knowing Sam still blamed himself for it happening anyway, Sam looked down, "Now I'm not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but, that whole mess with Lilith..."
"I started the Apocalypse," Sam sighed. As far as he was concerned he had. He may not have been the one to kill Lilith but he'd basically paved the way to it.
"Come on man," Dean nudged him, "Neither of us saw that coming, I mean, who'd have thought killing Lilith would've been a bad thing?" he paused in thought, "I mean, except Michelle and the angels, but it's not like they told us anything…" he trailed, "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 again, "So, for that, I'm sorry."
"Thanks," Sam smiled.
"So where do we go from here?"
"They way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this."
"What's that?"
"Maybe I am on deck for the devil, maybe same with you and Michael, maybe there's no changing that..."
"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."
"I can get on board with that," Dean smiled and nodded.
"There are my boys," Michelle's voice drifted over to them. They turned around to see her standing before them, smiling broadly.
Sam smiled widely at that and reached out to take her bag, putting it in the trunk with the others and shutting it.
"We're gonna have to do it on the same level," he heard Michelle add, sending a meaningful look at Dean.
He turned to see Dean smiling, "You got it."
"Good."
"I say we get the hell outta here."
"Hell yeah," Sam agreed as Michelle nodded.
They turned to head around the car, when Dean suddenly stopped, "Michelle," she looked up, "Who was your hero?"
"Huh?" she frowned.
"Well apparently mine is dad. Sammy boy's is the fruitarian, Leshi said she couldn't read yours."
She smiled softly, "Well, I've had a lot of heroes over the years, but right now…there are these two guys I know, Hunters actually, who have had a lot of shit thrown at them recently, enough that would make anyone give up…" she smiled softly, "But not them. They keep at it, fighting hard, saving the world."
Sam and Dean smiled at her words.
"Yeah," she nodded, "Remind me to send Bobby and Rufus a card later."
"What?!" they blurted at the same time, eyes wide, mouths open in shock, not expecting that.
She just laughed, "Of course it's you two!"
"Oh," Dean nodded slowly.
"Really?" Sam breathed.
She nodded, "And besides, it's not like Leshi could become my heroes when they're tied to the tree beside me. Sort of obvious no?"
Dean and Sam were smiling again, a warm feeling spreading through them at the thought that they were someone's hero.
"Hey," Dean called to Sam, who had moved to head to the car once again, he turned around to look at Dean, who was holding the keys out to him, "You wanna drive?"
Sam's eyes widened, "You sure?"
Dean shrugged, "Yeah, I could, uh...I could use a nap."
Sam just smiled as Dean handed him the keys. He headed towards the driver's side while Michelle took the passenger's seat, Dean lying down in the back. Sam started her up, Jeff Beck's 'Superstition' blaring over the radio as they began to drive away.
Dean laid back, getting comfortable, but sneaking one last look over at his brother, only to see Michelle rest her hand on his between them, Sam turning his own to entwine their fingers together.
He smiled as he closed his eyes.
A/N: I hope Michelle was believable in her reasons for forgiving (even if it's partially) Sam. It's true, Sam's whole reason for turning to Ruby was that he felt like Michelle abandoned him. He felt like he had no one BUT Ruby to rely on. Had she been there, she could have kept him from falling into Ruby's clutches. Not to mention, there's blame to go around, in this story Sam ALMOST broke the last seal, while Dean too ALMOST broke the first and Michelle ALMOST stopped the seals from being broken but failed anyway.
And I just want to apologize if the Spanish is completely off. I used google translator :)
In a final note...some reviewers/PMers have come close to guess the inconsistancy in Michelle's story, but not quite there just yet. That's ok though, I promised a hint about that earlier, so here it is...in the 'Free To Be You and Me' chapter, check out the plaque Sam sees of Michelle's father and think about what she told Dean as to why she was named Michelle in Purgatory's 'In the Beginning' chapter. You'll definitely see some strange things there...