Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: Um… sorry? Just one more chapter to go after this one, I'll be quick with that. ;)

Many thanks to everybody who reviewed. I appreciate them all. All my gratitude to Cheryl for the beta.

Part VII: Do Your Thing

Sam's words hung in the silence for a moment before Johann responded with a sharp nod.

"He was a witch. A true witch. That was why they feared him. If he had been a charlatan, babbling Latin and relying on the superstitious minds of the townsfolk, he would have been tried and convicted. But he was – is – a true witch, a powerful witch, and nobody has dared to stop him."

Dean scowled. "I hate witches."

"I don't understand," Sam said. "Why is he doing… this?"

"Trying to restore the past. I believe Wanda's death unhinged him. He never loved her, but he wanted her. She was to have been his greatest prize. Perhaps that was as close as he could come to love."

"So he's trying to turn the present into the past?" Dean asked.

"Yes. He has been trying for some time. It is not easy, and it becomes more difficult the further back in the past one goes. That was why nobody noticed at first; he could not make it stay, and he could only turn back the clock by a few years. When he grew stronger, I did as well. He feared me. Whenever he began, I would sense it, and hunt him down."

"You could hunt him even though you couldn't see?"

"He took my life. I could always sense him. This time I was not there to stop him – oh, I do not blame you," Johann said, when Sam looked guilty. "You gave me peace. And I would not have wanted to be riding against Ichabod Crane forever. It is best this way, Sam. This way, perhaps we have a hope of defeating him."

"Do we?" Sam whispered.

"This takes effort, and he cannot entirely control it. He is at his weakest now."

"How exactly does this work?" questioned Dean. "Are you… alive?"

"In a way. I am not a ghost. I am an… an echo of myself. There are others. Not the entire population of the town, of course. That would be far too much effort. But those Ichabod knew. I am certain he meant to resurrect Wanda as well, but she is not here. I would know it if she were. He will keep trying until he succeeds."

"Will any of the people he's brought back help us?"

Johann gave a short, sharp laugh. "Help? They all fear him. Do not look for aid, Dean. You can only rely on yourselves."

"And you?"

"I will help you. For what he did to Wanda, to me, I will help you."

"Great. Do you know where he lives?"

"Yes, but we should wait until morning. The woods can be treacherous at night. And Sam will be better for some rest. He will not find us here. We will be safe."

Safe or not, Dean didn't want to stay indoors in case things started to turn bizarre again. He wasn't even sure how they were still around; they seemed to be the only people from the present in this place, like Ichabod's spell had erased everyone else.

Ichabod's spell must have been what had removed Jed's friend Mark, but what had happened to him? Was he somewhere in this time? Was he dead, or trapped in some sort of limbo that he couldn't escape until the spell was broken altogether? And how had he and Sam, and the Impala, survived intact and fully functional? The Impala was running fine, and she would as long as the gas lasted. But nothing else from the future had made it…

No. They were definitely camping outdoors. At least it would be easier to get to the car if they had to.

"Stay here," he told Sam. "I'm going to get some stuff from the car." He glanced at Johann. "Keep an eye on him?"

"Hey!" Sam protested, just as Johann said, "Of course."

Dean went to the Impala and popped the trunk. Something white flashed in the moonlight as he opened it. He stared at it for a moment before he realized what it was.

Sam, during their last run-in with a demon, had drawn Devil's Traps on the inside of the trunk, both the underside of the lid and the bottom of the trunk. He would have drawn them on the outside if Dean had let him. There were lines of Latin, too, exorcisms and protective rituals. It was a supernatural lockbox.

And that was how the car had come through unscathed. Somewhere in Sam's chalk lines and painstakingly written-out incantations was something that had kept the Impala, and by extension everything in it, including him and Sam, safe from the side-effects of Ichabod's spell. Mark had disappeared, after all, and Sam and Dean had been fine –

Like a dream, Dean remembered Mark pressing at an invisible barrier. He hadn't been able to leave. But they had, in the car.

Dean let out a breath. He was never giving Sam a hard time about his geekiness again.

Maybe they'd be better off sleeping in the car?

No, they'd done that two nights already. And Sam was hurt. It wouldn't help him any to have to spend another night scrunched up in the Impala.

Dean dug a couple of sticks of chalk out of the non-equipment duffel, grabbed some blankets, and went back inside and into the kitchen.

Sam was still sitting where Dean had left him on the floor. Johann was by the window, looking out anxiously.

"Change of plan," Dean announced. "We can stay here." He put the chalk in Sam's hand. "Lock down the room. Whatever you did to the Impala to make it demon-proof when we went to Charleston."

Sam looked startled, and then his eyes widened in understanding. He took the chalk and got to his feet.

Dean watched him critically. He seemed stiff, which was to be expected, but he was managing. He'd be all right after a night's sleep, or at least he'd be capable of defending himself. They were taking a week off when this was over, though. Maybe two weeks. Nothing but pizza and beer and bad movies, and if Sam started lecturing Dean about his arteries, Dean was going to tie him down and force-feed him.

By the time Sam finished, there was a light sheen of sweat on his face.

Dean didn't bother to hide his concern. Johann had gone to check on his horse, and even if he'd been around it wouldn't have mattered. Dean couldn't have said why he trusted the guy except that he seemed genuinely concerned about Sam.

"Get some rest," he ordered, spreading one of the blankets in the middle of the floor. It wasn't exactly the Ritz, but it beat sleeping in the car.

Sam just stood there.

"Sammy? What's wrong?"

"You got me a blanket."

"I got you two, actually, but that's not an answer."

Sam gave an impatient shake of his head, like he thought Dean was being deliberately dense. "I thought – when he was attacking me – I thought I'd screwed it up and I wouldn't be able to put the Horseman back together and I thought you were going to die."

Oh.

Oh.

No wonder the poor kid looked so lost.

Dean shrugged and half-raised his arms. Sam didn't need another invitation. He flung himself into them, or came as close to flinging himself as he could when he was just about managing to walk.

"C'mon, kiddo."

Dean's own exhaustion was hitting him. He'd been through a lot, too, and he was tired, and he wasn't going to be able to support Sam's weight through the imminent collapse.

He lowered them both to the ground. Sam curled into him, probably listening for his heartbeat or something equally ridiculous, but Dean didn't have the heart to stop him. He'd've been doing the same if their positions had been reversed.

He didn't say anything until he realized Sam's shoulders were shaking and his shirt was getting damp under Sam's cheek.

Crap.

"Hey. Sammy. Settle down. I'm fine. You saved me. I'm fine. I'm better than you are, right now. You did it. You saved Johann and you saved me, and now we're going to get rid of Ichabod and save everyone else."

"I thought you were going to die."

The kid had a point. "Fine. Free pass just for tonight, yeah?"

Sam made a choked sound that might have been a laugh or a sob, and clutched tighter.

On the plus side, when Johann came back ten minutes later, Sam was finally asleep.

On the minus side, when Johann came back ten minutes later, Sam was finally asleep. Dean could really have used his help figuring out why the former Headless Horseman's mouth was set in a grim line.

Johann's scowl softened a little as he threw his hat down on the table.

"How is he?" he asked, nodding at Sam.

"He'll be fine in the morning."

"Good. We will have to move quickly once the sun is up." Johann's eyes were still on Sam. Dean felt a prickle of discomfort at the intensity of his gaze. "He reminds me so much of Wanda."

Dean had never heard such wistfulness, and he felt a pang for the other man.

"Well… You'll see her again, right? When we… finish this? Or is she…"

Dean didn't want to finish the sentence. Whether Wanda had been killed, committed suicide, or accidentally drowned while on the run from a deranged lunatic, the possibility of her having lingered as a ghost was strong.

He wasn't prepared for the look of pain that crossed Johann's face.

"What?" he asked uneasily.

"She… She turned into a spirit as well. And she – it was not her fault." There was urgency and desperation in his voice. "If she had been the only one to die she might have found peace, but the child…"

Sitting on that uncomfortable stone floor with his hand in Sam's hair, Dean couldn't even pretend not to understand.

"Is she… Does she still…"

Johann shook his head. "No more. I do not know what happened. I can only believe that one of your kind helped her pass on. I hope it was one who understood her sorrows and did not simply see her as a manifestation of evil."

Dean didn't bother telling him that the only hunter likely to "understand the sorrows" of the things he hunted was Sam, and Dean was pretty sure Sam had never ganked a ghost in Sleepy Hollow. If it made him feel better to believe that his girlfriend had been laid to rest by some bleeding-heart who cared about her…

"So what are we doing in the morning?" he asked, to change the subject. "Where exactly do we go to hunt Ichabod down?"

"I know his home. But there is an old barn on his property that he uses – used – for his dark arts. He must be there, trying to resurrect Wanda, to push the world far enough into the past for that to happen."

"The… Wait a second. He can't do this to the entire world, right?"

Johann shook his head with a wry smile. "I misspoke. Only the town and some of the surrounding lands and farms." He got to his feet. "You should sleep, Dean. We will have to leave before dawn."

Dean laughed, lying back and tugging Sam's head up to rest on his shoulder. They didn't have pillows, after all, and the last thing he needed was to hear Sam bitching about backache.

"Trust me, I'm used to early mornings."

They made an early start the next morning, Sam clearly still in some pain but steady enough on his feet that Dean was willing to get going. They'd rest later.

Johann went first, leading the way on his horse just like he'd done the previous night. The path was broad; apparently it was normally a cart-track. Dean really hoped they didn't run across any carts.

Sam was quiet. Not sulking or broody quiet, just sort of thoughtful. Dean let him be. He would have his head in the game when they got to Ichabod's hideout, he always did. In the meantime if he wanted to put his brain to work figuring out stuff, Dean wasn't going to complain.

With half his attention on his brother, Dean didn't see the bundle lying on the path until Johann's horse reared.

He braked quickly, exchanging a glance with Sam as they scrambled out.

Johann was struggling to stay in his saddle a few yards ahead of them, stroking his horse and trying to calm it. They ducked around him.

There was a man on the ground. He was on his stomach. There was a large dark spot on the ground under him, a pool of deep red spreading from somewhere in the region of his abdomen.

And then there were running footsteps, and a hoarse, guttural scream that seemed filled with all the sorrow and despair that existed in the world.

A man was running towards them from the opposite direction – Jed.

Dean barely had time to register that it was Mark bleeding out on the ground before Jed screamed again, and Dean couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him.

For once Jed ignored them both, falling to his knees by the injured man.

"Mark! God, no!"

Jed was reaching for him, turning him over. Sam stepped forward to protest, but Dean stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"It's dangerous to move him," Sam hissed. "He might make the injuries worse."

"Doesn't matter, kiddo. He's gone. We're in the eighteenth century. There's no hospital, no ambulance that can get out here, no modern medicine until we deal with Ichabod. He isn't going to last that more than a couple of minutes now."

Jed was bending over his friend, sobbing and pleading, shaking him desperately.

Sam turned away, walking around Johann. The horse had quietened, but Johann hadn't dismounted. He was staring at the scene before him like he couldn't help himself.

Mark was breathing too harshly, too slowly.

Dean let out a frustrated breath. Whatever kind of douchebag Jed was – and in Dean's opinion, there was no word in any language strong enough to describe the kind of douchebag Jed was – it went against every fibre to see him sobbing over his dying friend and do nothing to help.

But, as he'd told Sam, there was nothing they could do.

He ducked around Johann and went to Sam. The kid's breath was hitching. Dean couldn't do anything about Mark, but he could stand close enough for Sam to grab a fistful of his jacket, close enough that when Jed's rough, choked sobs made Sam drop his head, Dean's shoulder was already there to support it.

"I can take you to Ichabod Crane."

Dean felt Sam stiffen against him as Jed's voice cut through the silence.

"What are you talking about?" Sam demanded. "You know him?"

"I was working with him."

"You were…"

Dean started forward angrily, but Sam held him back. On Sam's other side, Johann just glared at Jed.

"You know what Ichabod's doing?" Sam asked. "He's completely insane! Why would you help him?"

"He said he could get me out – us out." Jed glanced over his shoulder at Mark's body, a sobering reminder that Ichabod had killed before and would be willing to kill again. "It's not like I've been plotting world domination with him or anything. I didn't even know him till a couple of days ago."

"Anytime you feel like getting to the point," Dean snapped. "Not like we're racing against the clock trying to stop a deranged lunatic here."

"Look, I drugged the kid and I'm sure that upset you, but I don't know what else you expected! Clearly you've known each other a while, and you were probably trying to hustle us that night. And he was acting like somebody's lost pet. He was ripe for the taking. He was asking for it."

"Don't you dare," Dean snarled, "try to justify drugging Sam and –"

"Justify? You think I care if you forgive me? I owe the two of you a beat-down and if I meet you tomorrow you'll get it. If I meet him down a dark alley –"

Sam grabbed Dean's arm just in time to stop him from lunging at Jed.

"OK," he said firmly. "We get it. You hate us, we hate you, and if we meet at any other time under any other circumstances, all bets are off. But right now we have a common enemy. Are you going to help us, or do we need to leave you tied to a tree?"

Jed took a deep breath and nodded.

"Ichabod Crane killed my best friend. I'll help."

"Great. What do you know?"

"He came to me a couple of days ago. I thought he was crazy, man, who'd believe this Harry Potter crap about witches and magic? Told him he'd been smoking too much of the bad weed. Then he turned my car into a horse wagon. I believed him after that. The deal was simple. I did some odd jobs for him, helped him eliminate the two of you when the time came, and he'd see Mark and me safely out and give us a pile of eighteenth-century gold for our trouble. It was just for a few days, who'd say no to that deal?"

"A man of honour would have done!" Johann snapped. He'd been quiet all this time, but apparently that last remark was too much for him.

"He drugged Sammy," Dean explained to Jed. "He doesn't have honour. What he has is me about to kill him unless he starts saying something useful instead of stupid attempts at explaining away what he's done."

"Guys," Sam muttered. "Not helping. Jed, there's only going to be so long I can keep Dean from breaking your nose, so talk fast."

"Mark wanted out. He thought it was too freaky, what Ichabod was doing. Didn't want to be mixed up in it. He told him, and Ichabod clearly didn't take it too well."

"Where is Ichabod?" Johann asked. "At the old barn?"

"I don't know if it's the same one you mean, but he's in a barn, yeah. Got himself locked down with all kinds of magical booby traps. You can't just charge in guns blazing." Jed smirked. "Fortunately for you, I have a plan."

"I hate this plan," Dean growled.

"Dean."

"Shut up, Sammy. I don't know how I let you talk me into agreeing. It's a stupid plan. It's way too risky. We're not doing this."

"We don't have a choice. I hate to say it, but Jed's right. We have no idea what Ichabod's done to protect himself. If we go in without preparation we'll just wind up getting killed."

"So the alternative is to send you in to get killed first? Wow. That's awesome. Why didn't I think of that?"

"Dean." Sam patted his arm. "I don't think he's going to kill me. Not immediately, anyway. If he'd wanted me dead, he wouldn't have left me alive by Johann's grave."

"I don't see why I can't go in. You're still in pain from everything else, don't deny it."

"I'm not denying it. But that's why I need to go in. You're fine, you're a kickass hunter, and you can come in and rescue me when it all goes to hell."

"So you admit this is going to hell."

"This is us, Dean. Of course it won't go according to plan. It's OK. You and Johann will be right outside."

"But –"

"Let's just try."

"There aren't even cell phone towers in this stupid time. I can't even call you."

"Hey." Sam gripped his shoulders. "Look. I'm not saying I trust Jed. He's still as skeevy as they come. And I'm not saying it's a great plan, and if it were you going in I'd probably hate it even more than you do now. But Jed wants to kill Ichabod even more than we do, and right now this is the best plan we've got."

"You just get in and figure out a way to break whatever protective spells he's put on the building, so Johann and I can get in. No heroics and no stupid risks."

"Nothing stupid, I promise."

"OK." Dean squeezed Sam's shoulder, holding his gaze for a moment before turning to Jed. "Hey. Douchebag."

"Dean," Sam hissed.

"Insulting the man who's going to be holding your brother's life in his hands?" Jed said. "Not smart."

"I'm only going to say this once, so you listen really carefully. I don't trust you an inch, and if I had any choice, anything at all, I'd take it. So here's how it's going to work. I come in, I find Sam in exactly the same shape he's in now. If anything happens to him, if I see any new bruises or blood or so much as a freaking paper cut, I will feed you your spleen. Am I making myself clear?"

"Crystal," Jed said coolly. "Sam?"

Quietly, Sam held out his hands and let Jed wrap a thin rope around his wrists.

"Not too tight," Dean said. "Don't cut off the circulation."

"He might look it, but he's not a twelve-year-old girl. We need to make this real."

"Doesn't mean you need to give him rope burn!"

"Dean," Sam said quietly. Dean shook his head. Sam turned to Jed and Johann. "Can you give us a minute?" They walked away, Jed scowling at Sam and Johann scowling at Jed. Sam sighed and turned to Dean. "Come on, Dean. It's going to be fine."

"Easy for you to say. You're not the one letting your brother walk into God knows what. With that son of a bitch who's going to sell you out. I know he is."

Sam shrugged. "You're probably right. But it doesn't matter." He smiled at Dean, the smile that always made Dean feel like he was Superman. "You'll make sure I don't get hurt."

Dean forced himself to smile. "Damn straight I will. Now go in there and do your thing."

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