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Part III: We Can Get Out of This Place

Dean felt oddly disconnected from himself. The mist was still swirling around the Impala, and he and Sam were still crouched in the footwell. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. An hour, maybe. His eyelids were getting heavy, but he resolutely fought the urge to sleep.

Despite the fact that he was now wearing Sam's jacket on top of his own, and had Sam's arm around his shoulders, he was cold. It felt like the chill was seeping into his bones.

"I've got you," Sam whispered. "I've got this. We're going to fix it."

Dean sighed. He didn't want to disagree, and Sam was a kickass hunter – if anyone could sort this out, it would be Sam. Dean himself was going to be next to useless soon –

"Shut up," Sam murmured.

"Didn't say anything."

"I can hear you thinking." Sam's voice had the tiniest hint of a tremor – enough to tell Dean he was scared but trying to hide it. "We're going to waste the ghost, Dean. He's not going to get you." Sam's arm around his shoulders tightened. "Nobody's going to get you."

"I'm tired, Sammy."

Sam turned to face him. "I know. Just… Stay awake as long as you can, OK? And then go to sleep if you need to. It's all right."

"Sammy –"

"It's OK, Dean. It's just going to be temporary. I'm going to find that ghost and end it."

Dean hardly dared to blink. He'd never really thought about looking at things before – maybe a hot girl in a short skirt, or a really awesome hamburger – but not at the things that mattered. Sam was a voice and a sometimes-hulking presence at his side and it wasn't like Dean particularly needed to see him to know he was there.

"Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"You know the puppy-dog thing isn't going to work if I can't see you, right?"

"Dean."

Sam turned away, but not before Dean saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. He felt like a heel, making Sam feel worse than he was already, but he needed to know that he'd still be Sam's big brother –

"Doesn't matter, jerk," Sam said at last, voice rough. "You've never really fallen for the eyes. You just can't bear to say no to me."

"Just a matter of time before I can't hear. Or speak."

Sam looked back at him, cracking a tiny smile, and gently disengaged the fist Dean had clenched in his shirt.

"Sammy?"

"Close your eyes."

Dean obeyed, turning his face into Sam's shoulder. Sam uncurled Dean's fingers gently, and then he felt a light fingertip tracing something into his palm. Letters.

S – A – M

Dean couldn't hold back a smile. "That's going to be slow."

"It's only going to be temporary."

And just like that, Dean felt better.

Dean was awake when the fog finally lifted. They got out, and everything was normal again. The town had vanished, Jed's friend was nowhere in sight, and there was just one slightly dilapidated old building in an otherwise barren landscape.

"So you want to go back to the motel?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head. "Not until we know what's going on. We can go there in the morning to shower and whatever, but we're sleeping in the Impala."

Dean nodded. "Get in, bitch. I'm driving."

Dean didn't drive far – he still had Sam's jacket and his own, and he was still cold, and his exhaustion was catching up with him. He got them off the road into a clearing hidden by trees, and stopped, and looked at Sam.

And although he was tired beyond anything he'd ever felt before, he couldn't bear to shut his eyes.

"You need a blanket?" Sam asked.

"Yeah – I'll –"

"Stay here. I'll go."

Sam was back in less than a minute with one of the spare blankets they kept in the trunk. He started to drape it around Dean, but Dean batted his hands away.

"Dude. I'm not a freaking invalid. I can do it."

"OK," Sam said quietly, backing off. "Just… make sure you stay warm."

"Sam, stop it."

"Sorry."

"Sam!" Dean snapped.

He didn't want this, didn't want to be treated like something fragile that could break at any moment. He was Sam's big brother. He took care of Sam. He didn't need Sam to take care of him and he didn't want to be the thing Sam had to worry about when he should be focusing on the case.

"Just… tell me what to do, Dean."

And Sam's voice told Dean everything. He was terrified and putting a brave face on it, terrified of losing his brother to the Hessian of the Hollow.

"Look at me," Dean ordered.

Sam's eyes met his.

"I trust what's in here." Dean reached out to tap the side of Sam's head lightly. "You might be an emo brat, but you're a smart emo brat and you're going to figure it out. Right?"

Sam tried to smile and didn't quite make it. But his voice was steady when he said, "I'm going to figure this out."

"That's my boy."

Sam still wasn't smiling, but he was puppy-dogging Dean for all he was worth, and Dean figured that would do. It was a more characteristic Sammy expression anyway.

"Dean?"

"Good night, kiddo."

Dean let his head rest on the windowpane and closed his eyes.

Dean woke up with a start. After a moment of disorientation the memories of the previous day came crashing back and –

Dean groaned, turning away to hide his face. For once he would have preferred the disorientation.

"Dean?"

"Go away," Dean mumbled, not opening his eyes.

"Dean, come on," Sam said softly.

A hand brushed through Dean's hair. Dean leaned up into it, and realized, with another small start, that the thing he was hiding his face in wasn't leather. It smelled of gunpowder and Sam's cologne.

"Oh, God," Dean moaned. "Am I…?"

"You did it completely on your own." Sam sounded amused. "I woke up and you were practically cuddling me."

"God, shut up."

"It's OK, Dean. It's… You needed it. It's fine." Sam was forcing his head up. Dean didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to know he couldn't see. "Dean, open your eyes."

"No."

"Dean, please."

"No."

"Dean, come on. It doesn't matter, we'll fix it. You know we will. But we have to know what we're dealing with."

"Sam."

"I'm here."

Dean opened his eyes to darkness.

"Sammy…"

"Yeah."

"Sammy, I can't – I can't –"

And then Sam's arms were around him, and his face was buried in Sam's shoulder, eyes squeezed shut again.

"It's OK."

"I can't do anything. I can't hunt –"

"Dean –"

"Sammy."

"I'm here," Sam promised.

"What if Jed comes after you? I can't watch out for you –"

"I can watch out for both of us. It's OK, Dean. You taught me how to kick ass. I can kick his ass if I have to."

"Sure you know how. But you won't." Dean shook his head. "Built like a tree and you're a freaking hippie. All that muscle is wasted, dude. Wasted." He pulled back a little, opening his eyes again. "So what's the plan?"

"First we're going to go to the motel – if it's still normal – and get cleaned up and get some breakfast. Then we're going to the cemetery to look up their burial records."

Getting dressed was a bitch. Dean did his buttons up wrong three times before Sam finally told him to stop being a macho jerk and let him help. Dean glared in the general direction of Sam's voice, but when he felt hands buttoning up his shirt he didn't push them off.

"I had a word with the lady at the front desk," Sam said, "while you were in the shower."

Huh. Sam had left him by himself? That didn't seem likely… Unless Sam had just phoned the front desk.

Dean hadn't noticed, earlier, where the phone extension had been, and he wished he could look around to spot it now.

"It's next to your bed," Sam said, guessing his thoughts. "Where you're not sleeping until we've figured this out."

"Bed's not going to disappear," Dean pointed out.

"Jed's friend did."

"What?"

"She said – the lady at the desk, I mean – she said she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary last night. But Jed and his friend checked in yesterday. They left –"

"Came after us."

"Probably. They left, and Jed stayed gone, but his friend came back soon after we did. Jed came in earlier this morning looking for him, and he seems to be missing. No sign of a struggle in his room, nothing to indicate where he might have gone and if he went willingly."

"Jed know we're here?"

"He knows we're staying here, but I doubt he knows we're here right this minute."

Jed knew they were staying here.

Jed was after Sammy. Jed was after Sammy and Dean couldn't do squat to stop him because he couldn't see, and soon all his senses were going to shut down, and –

"Calm down, Dean."

"If he comes after you –"

"Dean. Have you seen me lately? I can take him down."

"Not if he drugs you."

"God, you're never going to let me forget that, are you? That was a stupid mistake. I should've been paying more attention and I shouldn't have taken a drink from a man I was hustling. It won't happen again."

"Uh-huh." Dean wasn't convinced – Sam was Sam, and Sam was a trusting kid, and there wasn't a whole lot he could do about that. "You have any ideas for breakfast?"

"We don't have a lot of time. We should get to the cemetery. I figured we'd just grab some doughnuts on the way."

Doughnuts. Doughnuts that Dean could eat with his fingers and didn't really need to see to get in his mouth.

Sam was awesome.

He said so, and Sam laughed a little and helped him with his jacket.

Sam kept a guiding arm around his shoulders as they left the room. It would have been casual except that they didn't do that. But at least nobody was staring, and if they were Dean couldn't see it and Sam had never given a damn what random bystanders thought anyway.

Dean didn't really feel like talking till they'd pulled up outside the diner and Sam went in and got them doughnuts.

"Aren't we meeting any of the other families?" Dean asked, biting into his. "Sam, if it's because of me –"

"It's not because of you. There's nobody else still here. Abe Goldberg's wife and children now live in New York. Boy's a banker, girl's a lawyer. Alexander Barnes had no family and his girlfriend's moved to Chicago. And it doesn't really matter, anyway – we saw the Hessian. Not much they can tell us. We just need – um, yeah? Can I help you?"

Dean tried to judge by the sudden change in tone whether whoever had caught Sam's attention was a threat. He couldn't tell, so he settled for scowling in the direction of the ground and making himself appear as threatening as possible.

"I heard you mention the Hessian," a voice said. Dean didn't know it. Didn't sound too pissed-off or anything.

"Um… Yeah. My brother and I, we're really interested in lore and… you know, supernatural stuff. We were passing through, and we couldn't resist checking out Sleepy Hollow. Do you know anything about the Headless Horseman?"

"I can tell you everything," the voice said. "Everything about the Hessian of the Hollow."

"Sure," Dean heard Sam's voice. "I'm Sam Davis. This is my brother, Dean."

"My name is Ichabod Crane."

Sam tensed. He hadn't felt a chill, the guy seemed human –

"I'm not a ghost," Ichabod Crane said.

"No. Ichabod Crane is dead." Sam felt Dean move next to him, and grabbed his brother's wrist to hold him in place. This was so not the time for Dean to get all protective. "So either you're lying or you're a ghost."

"I am Ichabod Crane, I'm not a ghost and I'm not lying. And I'm the only person who can help you defeat the Hessian of the Hollow. I know you have silver and holy water in your glove compartment, so why don't you get on with it? Once you've established that I'm human, we can talk about the important things."

Sam hesitated. Going to get the silver knife and holy water from the trunk would mean leaving Dean exposed, and –

"Go get it, Sammy," Dean said quietly. "I'm fine."

Sam was as quick as he could, grabbing the equipment and hurrying back to put himself between Dean and the stranger who claimed to be Ichabod Crane.

Crane drank the water and let Sam cut his arm with the knife. When black smoke hadn't poured out of his mouth and his skin hadn't sizzled the way a shifter's would've done, Sam gave a short nod.

"All right. Talk."

"Here?"

"You have a better place in mind?"

"There's a rest stop five miles down the highway. I'll meet you there. It's a quiet place. We won't be overheard."

He got into his own car – a truly hideous canary-yellow hatchback, and Sam couldn't help thinking, with a pang, of what Dean would say if he could see it.

When he'd driven out of the lot, Sam turned to his brother.

"You OK for this?"

"What choice do we have?"

Dean reached out, probably intending to pat his shoulder, and ended up poking him in the arm instead. Sam saw a look of frustration cross his brother's face, and then Dean turned and fumbled at the passenger door.

Sam went around to the driver's side, hoping like hell that this guy, whether he was Ichabod Crane or not, would have a solution to the problem.

The rest stop was deserted. The asphalt of the parking lot was pockmarked with holes and covered in loose gravel.

"Don't get out," Sam said quietly. Dean instinctively turned towards his voice. "The ground's not safe, you'll break your ankle. I'll come get you."

It took less than a minute for him to get out and go around to the passenger door, but Dean's eyes were suspiciously bright when he got there. Sam felt something twist in his gut.

"C'mon, man," he murmured, opening the door. "It's not a big deal."

Dean started at the sound of his voice, but he stayed sitting stiffly until Sam reached in to urge him out. He moved then, but his shoulders were shaking.

Sam snuck a glance at maybe-Ichabod, who was watching them with a frozen smile.

"You just meant you were going to come around and help me out?" Dean whispered.

"Yeah, of course. What did you think I meant?" Dean shook his head. "Dean?"

"I thought you wanted me to wait in the car until… till you were done with that guy."

Dean sounded sad and vulnerable and lost, all the things his normally strong and confident big brother should never sound, and if maybe-Ichabod's eyes hadn't been on them, Sam would have stopped for a chick-flick moment.

"No way, man," Sam said lightly. "He looks like sympathy won't work on him. I need you to come be intimidating."

Sam managed to get Dean across the lot to the picnic benches. He steered him to the nearest one and sat him down, sliding in next to him and keeping just close enough that Dean would sense his presence. A moment later, Ichabod sat across from them.

"So the Hessian has reached your brother," he said, eyes gleaming with something almost like glee. "Your time is short."

"You know what he does?"

"I've known about the Hessian for a very long time, Sam Davis. I just haven't been able to do anything about it."

"Do you know how we can undo this?"

"Oh, that one's simple. May not be easy, though. You have to kill him."

"We have to kill the Headless Horseman."

"Yeah. Such a shame… Tourism revenues are going to sink through the floor. Sleepy Hollow is nothing without ghost sightings. But what can you do?" The guy smiled. It was unpleasant. "A few extra bucks for the motel owners weighed against your brother's life. I'm pretty sure I know what you'll choose."

"What do I do?"

"I can help you there. I may be the only one who can help you. The information I have isn't in any books."

"You know where the Horseman's buried?"

"Buried? No. But I do know his name." He nodded, like that settled everything. "Johann von Ahlen. He was a fusilier. Von Knyphausen's regiment, if I'm not wrong. He has… something of a tragic story."

"Don't we all?" Dean grunted. "What happened to him?"

"He fell in love. Her name was Wanda Bahner. The Bahners were, as I understood it, poor but very respectable. The regiment passed through Sleepy Hollow and Johann left the young and beautiful Wanda with… a bun in the oven. God, I hate that euphemism. Her father eventually found out, and turned her out. She wrote to Johann begging for help. He left his regiment at once, against his commander's orders, and went back to her."

"So that should be happily ever after, right?" Dean asked.

"Not really. Right after he'd found Wanda, they came across some other soldiers who recognized him, and they shot him as a deserter. Then they cut off his head so he wouldn't be able to find his way to Heaven. They buried his body in a shallow grave in the cemetery and his head… elsewhere. Nobody knows where."

"What happened to Wanda?" Sam asked.

The guy laughed. "Nobody knows. The soldiers tried to take Wanda to a church where they hoped she would be cared for, but she fled. Nobody ever found her. The common consensus was that, between an illegitimate pregnancy and a lover who'd been shot for desertion, she couldn't bear the shame of her continued existence and drowned herself."

Sam felt Dean's hand on his knee.

"So we need to find his grave? This… Johann von Ahlen? Find his grave and find his head –"

"And burn them both." Maybe-Ichabod got to his feet. "Good luck, Sam Davis. Your brother's life is in your hands now."

"Wait!" Sam protested. "We still don't know who you are."

"I'm Ichabod Crane. You might not believe me, but how does my name matter as long as I can help you?"

Dean let himself relax into the arm Sam had slung around his shoulders. Sure, he didn't like having to be guided from place to place, didn't like how helpless it made him feel, hated the guilt in Sam's voice when Dean tripped on a large pebble Sam hadn't noticed. But this was better than Sam leaving him in the Impala while he handled all the interviews.

The air changed, grew suddenly cool and damp, and Dean knew they were inside the church. He shivered.

"I'm going to look at the church register," Sam murmured. "Want to come with?"

Dean hesitated. The church was probably full of pews and benches and statues and other crap Sam would have to navigate him around. And it would be far less suspicious if he just sat in a pew.

"Like I want to listen to you being a geek. Just tell me where I can sit."

Sam led him a few feet to the left and gave him a light shove to sit him down on the wooden bench.

"I won't be far," he said. "Just looking at the register. I'll be able to see you all the time, and you can yell if you need me."

"I'm not a kid, Sam!" Dean snapped. "I can survive without you keeping an eye on me." There was a pause, and Dean just knew that if he could see, he'd be seeing Sam's sad puppy eyes. That just made him feel worse. "Go do your job."

He tried to inject a trace of apology into that. He probably wasn't very successful, though, because Sam just said, "Yeah, OK," and then Dean heard footsteps walking away.

Dean straightened in his seat, ducking his head so it'd look like he was… contemplating. Maybe praying, ridiculous as that sounded.

He had a lot to think about.

So far he hadn't let himself consider the possibility that they might not be able to fix this. He still didn't seriously think that would happen – Sam was a kickass hunter, and with Dean's life on the line he'd put in everything he had and then some. If anyone could get them out of this, it was Sammy.

But this wasn't just any ghost. This was the Headless Horseman. He'd been evading hunters for centuries. This might be the one thing that was beyond even Sammy.

And if Sam couldn't solve this…

Dean bit his lip.

His hearing would go soon, and then his ability to speak, and… He'd still be able to communicate with Sam. They couldn't talk, but they'd never needed words and they'd understand each other just fine even if all they had to work with was pats to arms and jostling shoulders and kicks under the table.

He'd only be able to communicate with Sam. Dean had no illusions; he wasn't Helen Keller and if they couldn't fix this –

There was a light touch to his knee, and a whiff of gunpowder mixed in with Sam's girly coconut shampoo. Dean turned automatically, reaching out. He fumbled in the air for a moment and then his hand landed on Sam's head. Judging by the height, Sam was crouching in front of him.

"Find anything?"

"No records of von Ahlen," Sam said. "And no birth or death listings for Ichabod Crane, either."

"So the guy we met…"

Sam sighed. "Not a ghost, not a shifter, not a revenant, not possessed. I don't know. I mean, he could be anyone – we have no idea what Crane really looked like. For all we know he's a lunatic who really does think he's Crane."

"You think so?"

"I hope not. If he's lying then we have absolutely nothing to go on to find the Horseman."

Dean rubbed Sam's head, the action familiar and as soothing to him as it was to his brother. He was about to say something, but he was interrupted when he heard the door behind them slam open.

"Well, well," a malicious voice said. "If it isn't Mr. Beginner's Luck and his sugar daddy."

Dean stiffened, recognizing the speaker, but Sam clapped him on the knee – a signal to let Sam handle this – and got to his feet. Dean knew without having to see it that he was pulling himself up to his full height.

"We don't want trouble," Sam said, and this wasn't his sympathetic, brave little soldier voice. This was the voice that said he truly didn't want trouble but if pressed he was perfectly capable of causing a lot of it. "So why don't you guys leave? Go back home, keep playing pool, and we can all forget we ever met."

"Doesn't look like you guys plan to forget you ever met."

There was near-inaudible scuffling as Jed took a couple of steps forward, and then a soft grunt from Sam. Dean tensed, every fibre screaming at him to get up and throw punches, but he couldn't, he couldn't see what he was doing and he might end up hitting Sam –

"Take your hands off me," Sam hissed, in a low, furious tone that would've made even Dean back off.

Dean forced himself to stay sitting. If he stood, Jed would know that something was wrong with him, and he'd be even likelier to target Sam if he knew Dean couldn't watch out for him.

"I knew the puppy had teeth," Jed spat. "I have unfinished business with you, boy, but I'm not here for that now. What happened to Mark?"

"Mark?"

Movement, and another bitten-off sound from Sam. Dean hated not being able to see, and more than that he hated not being able to help. He knew Sam was holding himself back from hitting Jed because he didn't want to start a fight when Dean couldn't defend himself, and that made him feel as useless as a salt round against Dracula.

"My friend," Jed said. "He went to talk to you guys last night and I've not seen him since. The motel girl said he came asking for you but you were out, and she seems to be the last person who saw him. You do something to him? Because if you did, I'm going to make you regret the day you were born."

"I have no idea where your friend is," Sam growled. "Now take your hands off me and get. Out. You come near either of us again, and church or not, you won't be walking away."

Stumbling footsteps, and then Sam was tugging Dean to his feet.

"They're gone," Sam said.

They? How many of them had there been?

"You OK, Sammy? Did he… What did he do to you?"

"I'm fine. He just grabbed my shirt. That's all, I promise. Let's just…"

"Sammy?"

"Let's just gank the damn ghost and then we can get out of this place."

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