Dean slid the car into the parking lot of a dimly lit gas station, ripples spread through the deepening puddles. The lights quivered in the water, flashing and vibrating as bursts of thunder rolled across the gloomy sky. The car shifted down and Dean yanked the door open, standing half in the rain he reached over and shook Sam,

"Wake up Sam," he said, his face taut with apprehension.

Sam jolted awake slamming his knee against the underside of the dash, "Geez, you didn't have to be so rough," he remarked, rubbing his sore knee.

"Hurry up, it's raining."

"Then why the hell're you standing out there?" Sam muttered as he clicked his door open and pulled his jacket up above his head.

They stood beneath the overhang, Dean smeared away the vapor and looked in.

"Doesn't look like it's open."

Sam sighed and tugged his jacket back down, "Great. Guess we'll be waiting out the storm in the car."

"Nothin' wrong with that," Dean shrugged, "Put your jacket back up, dumbass, wouldn't want to get that hair wet."

Sam rolled his eyes, but pulled the jacket back up as they made their way back through the sheets of algid rain.

With the doors closed again, rain blurring everything beyond the inside of the car, Dean snapped on the radio. A muffled voice spilled out,

"... And a local police department is holding a man who claims to have just awakened from a 200 year sleep- What do you think of that Chelsea? *laughing* Well Jonathan, I guess we'll just have to wait for an update. They're still questioning him but-"

Dean turned it down, and grinned over at Sam, "Now that's our kind of weird."

"Yeah, doesn't mean it's true though." Sam shrugged, reaching over to switch to another channel.

"We can check it out while we're here anyways."

"Thought we were rushing off to Tarrytown, wasn't there something, important, there?"

"If there are people here that need our help, we can take a day for that, besides, we're a 2 minute drive away."

Sam leaned back to his seat as the radio spurted out a staticy tune,

"...This is my kingdom come, when you feel my heat, look into my eyes, it's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide-"

Sam drummed along on the window sill, humming.

"Damn it Sam-" he twisted the dial,

"Yeah the ladies were too kind... You've been- thunderstruck, thunderstruck, yeah yeah yeah, thunderstruck, yeah, oh..."

Dean tapped his foot on the floor.

Sam sighed, "Can't you listen to anything else?"

"Nope." Dean replied, snapping his fingers and swinging his head back and forth.

Sam sighed loudly and slumped down in his seat. Dean turned the radio up.

"Can't you at least keep it down so I can sleep?"

"You shouldn't sleep with music like this playing."

"Well then I'll change it-" Sam reached for the dial,

"You can sleep outside." Dean smirked, slapping his hand away.

"It's pouring out there, Dean!" he grumbled.

"Well then guess you'll just have to suck it up- my car, my rules."

Sam leaned his head on the ledge beneath the window and sulked, "It's your fault I'm up so late."

"I let you sleep all the way here- don't complain. We've got a job."

"Then let's go do it."

"The roads are flooded, Sammy, we can't go anywhere."

"Can't we at least listen to the news then- maybe we can learn more about what's going on here."

"They aren't gonna say anything helpful- we'll need to do any real research on our own- besides," he paused as a shadow melted across the glass, then a click- "GET DOWN SAM!" he reached over and shoved Sam's head away from the window, right as glass cascaded around them.

"Was that-" Sam kept his head down, turning towards Dean.

"A shotgun. Now who the hell..." he shook his head and reached into the glove compartment, pulling out a gun. "I'm going to the trunk-" he handed the gun to Sam, "Cover me."

Sam nodded, opening the door and crouching behind it. Dean crawled around to the trunk, grabbing a shotgun,

"Can you see who- or what- it is?" Dean yelled over the storm,

"No- it- but whoever it is- they're riding a horse."

"Damn it!" Dean crawled back through the car and stooped beside Sam, "Okay- but do they look like a person?"

"You can see- can't you?" Sam retorted.

Dean sighed and peeked around the door, "Don't tell me-" Dean took a shot, and scowled, "Is that- the hell Sam! They don't have a head!"

"Are you telling me that's a headless horseman?" Sam frowned.

"Well Sam, I can't deny that," he nodded, a dry look on his face, "He's on a horse, and he doesn't have a head, so I'd say, YES. THAT IS A HEADLESS HORSEMAN."

"Are you serious right now?"

"I don't know- why don't you have look then, damn it, if you don't believe me- I can't say anything for certain, but he is definitely on a horse, and he is definitely headless, so make of that what you want."

"Okay, it's late-"

"Early."

"It's early in the morning and you've been driving all night, shoot me for doubting your judge-" Sam whipped back around behind the door, "Oh god he doesn't have a head."

"What did I tell you!" Dean shouted, reloading the gun, "I told you Sam! I told you!"

"Yeah, but I thought maybe you were kidding me- we're in Sleepy Hollow you asshat!"

"You think I'd joke about something like that?"

Sam's eyes widened and he spread his arms, "Yeah!"

"Well- I wasn't."

"I CAN SEE THAT!"

"Okay- does dad's book say anything-"

"No. Of course it doesn't," Sam replied, exasperated as he pulled the book from the side pocket of the door.

"Did you check?"

"Does it look like I checked?"

"Just look." Dean shrugged, scuttling back through the car.

"Where are you going?"

"Gotta get a few more things from the trunk."

"Like what?"

"What the hell do you think? If this is actually-"

"Goddamn it Dean it's probably just some guy messing around with-"

"Do you want to take that chance Sam? Do you really?"

Sam held the gun back up and nodded, "I'll cover you."

Dean nodded back and slid around to the back.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Why the hell'd you think it was a good idea to pull into an empty parking lot in Sleepy Hollow?"

"You said yourself, that legend's more legend than truth- at least, I thought so." Dean replied, shoving a few things into a bag.

Sam fired a few shots, "I can't even tell if I hit him- it's too dark out," he shook his head and pressed his body against the door.

"Even if you did hit him- doesn't mean it'll kill him, or even slow him down."

"True."

"Here-" Dean said, gliding across the seats and squatting down beside Sam, "Rock salt in these," he pulled two guns out of the bag.

"Do you think that'll work?"

"It's worth a shot," he shrugged.

Sam aimed and pulled the trigger, "Damn it! Missed."

"He's pretty far away still- do you think he'll come closer?"

"Do you want him to come closer?" Sam mumbled, aiming again.

"I- no- but it would make it easier to hit him!"

Shots rang out from the hill past the horseman, who ran into the forest and a woman rushed over to them, shoving her gun back in its holster,

"Are you two alright?"

"Yeah, I guess," Dean said, throwing the guns back in the car.

"I'm Abbie Mills," she reached her hand out for Dean to shake, "I'm with the police. Who're you two?"

"Dean. This is my brother Sam."

Abbie smiled and leaned to shake Sam's hand, "Hi, hope you two aren't hurt." She looked down at the pavement around them, "Is that- salt?"

"Yeah- don't ask." Dean said

"Come on," she helped Sam up, "I'll take you back to the station. You're soaking wet and shivering. I think there's a coffee machine in the back room."

"That sounds great." Sam nodded.

"Hey," Dean started, "You know anything about that guy who says he's been dead for 200 years?"

Abbie sighed, "Unfortunately."

"What do you know?" Dean pressed.

"You can see him for yourself if you come with me."

"Really?" Dean grinned, "That'd be great- hey- just asking, do you believe any of it?"

"I- he's probably just on drugs, or maybe mentally ill," she shrugged, "I mean, it isn't possible to come back to life."

"You don't really believe that- do you?"

"Dean, leave her alone, she doesn't need you asking her a bunch of stupid questions-" he turned to Abbie, "Sorry, my brother can be kind of an ass sometimes, you'll have to just ignore him."

"Sam, it's obvious she-"

"Drop it. Dean," Sam said through gritted teeth, "Can't you see she's uncomfortable?"

"No- it's fine. I don't normally believe all that stuff, but he- he's telling the truth, I know he is. I don't know how, but he is. You think it's crazy, right?" she sighed, "I just want answers."

"No! I don't think you're crazy," Sam shook his head, "We actually, well, we hunt this sort of stuff all the time."

"Shut up Sam!" Dean growled, "She's going to think we're crazy if you keep talking."

Abbie stared at Dean, "Look- we all just saw that thing- and I'm not going to pretend it wasn't headless. There's something weird going on here and I can't just ignore that."

"Well, we might be able to help." Sam offered.

"Thanks, but I think I can take care of this. On my own. It's sort of my job," Abbie said, turning away, "Let's get back to the station, we can talk there."

"Sounds good," Dean nodded. "Sam can get that hair of his dry again."

Sam shot him a look and brushed his hair out of his eyes, "I can't help it."

"Get a haircut then." Dean shrugged.

The walk back to the station was a quiet one, filled with soggy shoes slopping against the sidewalk, and leaves occasionally finding asylum in Sam and Abbie's hair. The sky was beginning to lighten, pink and orange bled onto the horizon, and the rain slowed to a drizzle, the clouds dissipating.

Abbie led them into the lobby, "Wait here, I'll go see if Ichabod is out yet. Help yourself to the coffee machine."

"Sam, go get us some coffee."

"Get your own coffee, lazy-ass," Sam said, walking over to the machine.

"You're already there though."

"Fine." Sam sighed, "Black?"

"Mmhm."

Sam handed him the cup, "Careful, it's hot."

"I know," Dean retorted, taking a sip. He squinted hard and bit his lip.

"Told you."

Abbie walked back out, a man following her, "This is Ichabod. Ichabod, this is Sam and Dean. They've seen him too."

"Him?"

"No- not him. The horseman though, they saw him."

"Wait-" Dean cocked his head, "Who's him?"

"Nobody." Abbie shook her head. "Anyways. Ichabod, tell them what you told me, about the witches and the whole brought back to life thing."

"Alright." Ichabod took a seat beside them on the bench. "So long as you promise they won't send me off to an asylum," he added wryly.

"No- I think they might know something- they said they hunt these things."

Dean jabbed his elbow into Sam's side and whispered, "The hell'd you have to tell her about that for anyways?"

Sam shoved Dean away and whispered, "She looked like she needed someone to believe her- to believe in the crazy stuff happening around here."

"Still." Dean looked over at Ichabod and whispered back to Sam, "Hey- you two can be hair buddies."

"Would you stop?" Sam sighed.

"Well- if they're going to aid us I suppose I'll tell them then- but I'm still rather angry about the whole "detained" business. I thought this was a free country," he remarked dryly. "To put it shortly, my wife, who was a witch, placed me under a spell, and here I am, awake 200 years later. I don't recall anything past being injured- I was in a hospital, she was there, then it was all black, until I burst through the ground in a basement with no recollection of the past 200 years."

Sam looked at Dean and whispered, "Definitely our kind of weird."