CHAPTER FIFTY:
HOUSE OF WAX.

☽ ༓ ☾

"HEY, KIDDO."

The thought of ignoring Reese's call had briefly crossed Birdie's mind when she saw his name pop up on her phone. She would occasionally respond to one of his texts as the weeks passed, but then it would take her a few more days to answer another one. Reese impatiently waited before trying to call her, deciding to just finally try it and see if she would answer.

If she didn't, then he knew he would just have to keep waiting for her to be ready to talk. But, thankfully she answered.

Birdie shifted her position, readjusting her jacket she was using as a pillow as she laid in the backseat of the Impala. Dean was, of course, driving while Sam sat in the passenger seat. They were headed to Canton, Ohio after Dean heard about a man suffering a head-on collision in a parked car. Sam hadn't been too keen on it as the apocalypse was still upon them and Lucifer was now out and about. However, Dean pointed out that they had to refigure themselves and make sure they could still work as a team on hunts before even trying to go after the devil.

It didn't come as a surprise to Birdie that Dean thought they should take it slow. After learning the truth of what Sam and Birdie had been doing when he wasn't around, Birdie couldn't blame him.

The first week was tense, all three of them trying to get back in the flow of things. One of the first things they did was go to Bobby's so that he could see Birdie for himself. It was a heartfelt reunion, one that was filled with many questions, 'i told you so's', and tight embraces. Explaining that her father was back was just as shocking to Bobby as it had been for both Sam and Dean. It took even longer for Bobby to believe, denying that Reese would've done such a thing if he was still alive. After seeing Birdie's face, though, Bobby realized she was in fact telling the truth.

They stayed there for a few more days to take it easy, but then they were back on the road and trying to track down the Colt after Dean and Birdie saw it in their supposed futures. Dean's future self truly believed it could kill Lucifer, and perhaps if he'd gotten the chance to actually pull the trigger, it might have.

Now that they knew it was still out there, they needed to find it.

"How-how are you?" Reese wondered, recapturing Birdie's attention.

Birdie quietly sighed, sparing Sam a glance when she saw he was looking at her with confusion. She mouthed the words 'dad' and Sam nodded. "I'm doin' okay," Birdie answered. "You?"

"I'm alright. I, uh, just finished fixing my ride."

"Your ride?"

"Yeah, it's a van. It's pretty old school. . .but I like it."

"What was wrong with it?"

"Someone stole it and messed up the tires a bit," Reese answered with a quiet chuckle. "It's black and has some dated stripes on the side." Birdie knitted her brows together, the van she'd stolen popping into her mind. "But, I figure the person who took it deserved a free pass⎯⎯⎯as many as she wants, really."

"Wait. . .the van . . .you knew it was me, didn't you?"

"Yeah. It didn't take me long to realize. And out of all the cars you could've picked, you picked mine."

"Why didn't you say anything then?"

There was a moment of silence before Reese sighed. "It wasn't that big of a deal."

Birdie bit the inside of her cheek, her fingers playing with a loose string of her sweater. "Did you need something?" she asked.

"No, no, I, uh. . .well, no, I don't need anythin'," Reese said. "But. . .I'd like to see you again."

"I don't know. . ."

"Will you think about it? Just for a few days? There's somethin' I wanna talk to you about."

"What is it?"

"It's not somethin' I wanna say over the phone. It's more of an in person kinda thing. . ."

Birdie momentarily closed her eyes, taking a few seconds to mull it over. "I'll think about it, okay?"

"Thank you, Bird."

"I'll talk to you later."

"See ya, kiddo."

Birdie hung up and set her phone on her chest, momentarily closing her eyes. "Let me guess━━━Hiro?" Dean snickered.

Birdie faked a laugh and sat up, turning in the seat so she was facing forward. "Funny."

"What'd your dad want?" Sam asked.

"He wants to see me again. And, there's something he wants to talk about, but apparently he can't do it over the phone."

"Well that don't scream suspicious," Dean said, casting a subtle glance in Sam's direction. Dean still wasn't entirely on board of Reese being back.

Sam's eyes lingered on Birdie for a few extra seconds, seeing the same look in her eyes that he saw each time she talked about her father now.

She looked like a lost, sad, little puppy struggling to find their way back home. There was a hint of hope and longing still holding onto her, but it was beginning to dwindle away.

"You know what it might be about?" Sam wondered.

Birdie shook her head. "Hell if I know. Anything's possible at this point."

"I'm sure it can't be that bad," Sam said.

"How many times has that phrase come back to bite us in the ass?" Dean asked, stealing a glance at Sam. Sam let out a quiet huff, shooting Dean a look in return. Dean titled his head, looking at Birdie through the rearview mirror. "You gonna see him?"

"I don't know yet," Birdie admitted. She then cleared her throat and leaned forward, resting her arms on Sam and Dean's seats. "Where are we headed again?"

"Canton, Ohio," Dean said. "Maybe while we're there we can do a little sightseein', visit the Football Hall of Fame."

"Ooooh," Birdie falsely cooed, raising her brows as she wiggled her fingers, "That sounds really, really tempting, Dean, but maybe we should focus on the case?"

Dean huffed, shooting Birdie a glare. "I meant after. . .bitch."

Birdie playfully rolled her eyes, shrugging her shoulders with a tiny smile. "I vote no."

"This isn't a democracy. We're not votin' on it."

"Who thinks we should vote on it?" Birdie asked, raising her hand.

Sam chuckled, shaking his head at the younger woman. "How about we work the case first and see how it goes from there?" he asked, glancing between his brother and Birdie.

"Fine," Dean grumbled.

Birdie snickered and leaned back against her seat, laying down again. Sam watched her as she did so, a confused expression on his face. "What?" Birdie innocently asked, having noticed his staring.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked.

"I'm goin' go back to sleep. What's it look like, Sammy boy?" Birdie said, her voice making it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"You've been asleep for most of the day," Dean chimed in.

"I'm tired," Birdie defensively replied.

"Still?"

Birdie didn't respond.

Sam looked at the younger woman and then at Dean, a small smile on his lips. "Guess she's already out," he said.

"Bullshit," Dean said. "I know you're not asleep already."

All Dean got in response was an obnoxiously loud and obviously fake snore.

Dean shook his head while Sam quietly laughed, his dimples poking out. Birdie smiled to herself and rolled onto her side, a comfortable silence settling inside the Impala as the sound of Kansas began to quietly spill from the speakers.

☽ ༓ ☾

The sun was happily shining down on Canton, Ohio the following morning.

Birdie and the Winchesters had made it to the city late into the night and got a shared room at a cozy little motel. Birdie was in and out of sleep for most of the night, only finding peace in her slumber when her head was resting on Sam's chest and his heartbeat soothed her to sleep. It lasted for a few hours until they all started to wake up. They got dressed into their finer clothes and headed down to the police department to talk to the sheriff about Cal Hawkins━━━the man who died in a head on collision inside his parked car.

Birdie was dressed in a pair of reddish-brown slacks and a matching blazer. A white turtleneck was under the blazer and neatly tucked into her pants. Some black vans were on her feet as she didn't have any "nice" shoes in her bag for some reason, but somehow it still matched her outfit (at least in her opinion). Sam and Dean both donned black suits and white button ups with striped ties; their usual attire for impersonating an FBI agent.

"Agents Bonham, Copeland, and Taylor."

Birdie lowered her fake badge along with Sam and Dean, tucking it back into her blazer. The sheriff stood behind a counter, facing Birdie and the boys. He nodded in greeting, shaking each of their hands. "Rick Carnegie," he introduced. "Good to know ya. So, you're here on account of Cal Hawkins' death?"

Sam nodded. "That's right."

"Well, 'fraid you kids came a long way for nothin'. We already booked the guy that did it."

Birdie tilted her head, sharing a confused look with Sam and Dean.

"I'm sorry. Who do you think did it?"

"Follow me," the Sheriff said. He walked out from behind the counter, leading Sam, Birdie, and Dean into a room in the hall. There was a table in the middle of the room with a mug, Cal's file, and a notepad with some numbers jotted down on it. "Take a seat. I'll show you who did it."

Birdie's confusion only increased as she sat down at the table, smoothing down her blazer as she sank into the cushioned chair. Sam was beside her with Dean at the other end, their expressions matching Birdie's. Sheriff Carnegie put a tape into the DVD player by the TV in the corner, picking up the remote. He sat down at the table and raised the remote, pressing the play button.

Birdie leaned forward, resting her arms on the table as a video began to play. It appeared to be a video recording.

"Cal? Is something wrong?" the voice behind the camera asked, moving closer to the car.

It reached the car and a shaky breath could be heard as it focused on Cal's head that was smashed into the windshield. "Oh my God, Cal," the camera man whispered. The camera was dropped, causing the screen to go black, though the man's voice could still be heard. "Cal! Cal!"

Sheriff Carnegie shook his head, switching off the TV. He dropped the remote on the table and turned to Birdie and the boys with a disapproving look. "Sicko taped his own handiwork," he said.

"I don't follow," Sam said in confusion, slightly shaking his head.

"It was Jim Grossman that killed Cal."

Dean furrowed his brows, blinking as he tilted his head. "Wait, what?"

"Well, he was the only one on the scene for miles," Sheriff Carnegie said.

"Yeah, but. . .they were best friends," Birdie pointed out.

"Most violent crimes are committed by someone close to the victim."

"And how exactly did Jim slam Cal into a windshield with all the force of an eighty-mile-per-hour crash?" Dean asked, using his hand as he spoke.

Sheriff Carnegie blinked, squinting as he spoke. "Drugs, maybe?" Dean just raised his eyebrows at that. Sam rolled his eyes, shifting in his seat as he sat up and shared a look with Birdie. "Look, you know this ain't brain surgery. Whatever it looks like, that's what it usually is. It's simple."

"Simple. Right."

"Right," Sam said. "Um, if you don't mind, we'd like to speak to Jim Grossman anyway."

Sheriff Carnegie didn't see the point of the FBI agents interviewing Jim Grossman, however he allowed it. Birdie stayed behind since she and the boys thought three agents questioning the man might have seemed like too much. They weren't sure if the man was innocent, but there certainly was something strange about Cal's death. They didn't want to corner him, considering it could cause him to clam up and hide any information they needed about what was going on. So, she just waited in the hall, scrolling through some of her father's text.

I miss you kiddo.

How are you and the boys?

I'm here if you need me.

She let out a quiet sigh, swiping out of their texts.

"Are you the new sketch artist?"

Birdie looked up, furrowing her brows together at the man in front of her. He was taller than her with dark brown hair that stopped a little past his ears. A pair of glasses was pushed on his head, though a few stray hairs had slipped out from underneath and dangled on the side of his forehead. He had on a black suit and tie, a shoulder bag over his arm. His piercing blue eyes swam with warmth as he stared at Birdie, his thin lips curved into a small smile. "Um, no?" she replied, however her response came out sounding more like a question of her own than an answer.

The man softly chuckled. "Sounds like you're not too sure, but I'm going to take it as a no."

Birdie breathed out a laugh, nodding her head. Hearing his voice again, she noticed he had an Irish accent. "Sorry, um, I'm-I'm not the new sketch artist."

"My apologies," the man said. "You just seem like the artsy type."

"Thanks," she said, softly smiling at the man.

Birdie's eyes flickered to the side, doing a double take when she saw a green haired boy peeking at her from the lobby. His eyes widened when he realized she caught him staring and abruptly stood up, scampering down a hallway. Birdie blinked, shaking her head as she tried to figure out what had just happened. The man followed her gaze, just barely seeing the boy darting away. "Friend of yours?" he asked.

"No. I-I don't even recognize him," Birdie said, shaking her head. That was odd, but she had other things to worry about than some teenage boy.

The man chuckled, still smiling as he held his hand out to Birdie. "I'm Simon⎯⎯⎯crime scene technician and forensic scientist."

"Ah," Birdie said, firmly shaking his head. "I'm Birdie⎯⎯⎯FBI agent."

"The top of the food chain, I see," the man, Simon, chuckled.

Birdie laughed along with him, the sound dying down a few seconds later. Simon let out a quiet sigh, giving Birdie one last smile. "It was nice to meet you, Birdie."

"You, too," she said.

Simon's smile lingered on his lips as he turned, heading further down the hall. Sam and Dean were walking towards her as the man did so, both of them glancing back with curious looks. Birdie rolled her eyes at them, folding her arms over her chest when they came to a stop in front of her.

"Who was that?" Sam asked.

"Uh, just some forensic person who works here," Birdie said, nonchalantly shrugging. "He thought I was the new sketch artist."

"He did?" Dean raised his brows.

"What? Do I not look like an artist to you?" Birdie playfully retorted.

"Not in this getup," he replied, gesturing towards the suit she wore.

Birdie scoffed, scrunching up her face. "This 'getup'? At least mine is tasteful and I don't look like a━━━"

"Impound," Sam interjected, nudging both Dean and Birdie towards another hall, "This way."

Birdie grumbled under her breath, shooting Dean a glare as they entered the impound garage. The sheriff had given them permission to check out the car Cal had died in, figuring they would want to see it even though they had a man in custody for the crime.

Dean walked ahead, catching sight of the car, the apparent Little Bastard, in the far corner of the garage. He inspected the car with awe, careful not to touch. Birdie raised a brow as she stopped beside the car, her gaze lingering on the windshield that was stained with blood and had a piece missing where Cal's head smashed into the glass. The number 130 was on the driver's side door in black, not even a drop of blood on it.

"So, what, this is, like, Christine?" Sam wondered.

Dean shook his head. "Christine is fiction. This. . ." he said, gesturing towards the car, "this is real."

Sam walked around the back of the car, looking at it for a few more moments before he turned his attention to Dean. "Okay. Enlighten us."

"Well, after James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage, and he fixed it up. And it repaid him by. . ." Dean walked around the car as he spoke, clicking his tongue against his teeth as he said, "falling on him."

Birdie winced, stealing a glance at the car. She never quite understood men and their intense fascination with cars, how their car was almost their entire personality and who they were as a person. Then again. . .she too was rather attached to her motorcycle. That was different, she would defend.

"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." Sam hummed, sharing a silent glance with Birdie. "Then, in nineteen-seventy, it vanished off the back of a truck. Nobody's ever seen it since. I'm telling you, guys, if this-if this car is Little Bastard, I will bet you dollars to donuts it's what killed the guy."

"Okay, but how do we tell if it's the real deal?" Birdie asked.

"Cal matched the VIN number, but the only real way to know is the engine number."

Sam licked his lips, faintly nodding his head. "I'm guessing the engine number is━━━?"

"On the engine," Dean nodded. "Yeah."

Birdie raised her brows, looking between Sam and Dean. "You mean on the top of it, right?" she asked, catching Dean's eye. "Like, we could just pop open the hood and it'll be right there━━━"

"No," Dean interrupted, shaking his head. "Lucky for us, it's on the bottom."

Birdie scoffed, throwing a hand out. "That doesn't make sense."

"It does in the world of cars, Big Bird," Dean said, slipping off his jacket. Birdie rolled her eyes, taking a few steps to the side as Dean started to walk in her direction. He bent down and grabbed something behind her━━━a jack lever━━━to put under the car. Sam let out a quiet sigh, shrugging off his jacket as well. Birdie simply held out her hand, waiting for Sam to hand it to her. He breathed out a laugh, placing it in her hand. "Thanks," he said.

"No problem," Birdie shrugged, not even looking at Dean as he also handed her his. "I'll just sit off to the side where it's safe while the big, strong men deal with the possibly murderous car."

Sam's smile slightly faltered, looking down at the car for a quick second. Dean shot Birdie a glare, though there was a hint of genuine fear at the thought of having to get under the car. But, he quickly shrugged it off and grabbed hold of another jack lever. This time he pushed it to Sam, nudging his head towards the car. "Put it on the other side," he instructed.

Sam pushed the lever around to the other side of the car, kneeling on the ground along with Dean. They rolled up their sleeves and checked under the cars as they started to carefully push the jacks under the car. They wanted to make sure they were almost in the same exact spots before lifting the car up. Birdie stepped back and leaned against the wall, curiously watching Dean and Sam both pump the levers to raise the car off the ground.

"It look even to you, Bird?" Dean asked.

Birdie slightly tilted her head, squinting at the car as she tried to tell if it looked even. She shifted her posture, struggling to tell if it was just actually a little bit crooked or if she was expecting it to be a little crooked. "Uh, sure?" she replied.

"Well that's reassuring," Dean huffed, glancing at her over his shoulder.

"Yes, it's fine," she said.

Sam sat up straight and then rose to his feet, chuckling under his breath. "It's fine, Dean," he said. He walked back to the other side as Dean stood up, all three of them gazing at Little Bastard with trepidation.

"You want me to do it?" Sam asked after a few moments.

"No. . .No, no, I've-I've got it," Dean stammered, sucking a heavy breath as he slowly moved towards the car. Birdie snickered, turning her head towards Dean. "Okay, baby. . .I'm not gonna hurt you, so. . .don't hurt me."

"Don't be such a baby," Birdie teased, giving Dean a light push forward.

He swatted her hand away, giving her an incredulous look. "What are you, nuts?"

Birdie couldn't help but laugh, simply shrugging when Dean's eyes narrowed in on her. Sam shook his head with a grin, not saying anything when Dean glanced at him. Dean cursed at them under his breath and moved towards the car, sucking in a sharp breath as he mentally prepared himself.

He slowly laid down on a roller board with a pencil in his mouth and a small piece of paper in his other hand, carefully rolling himself under the car so his eyes were level with a number printed on the engine. He brought the paper and pencil closer, hoping that the car wouldn't get mad at him. The car shuddered seconds later and he jumped in fear, frantically looking around to make sure the car wasn't going to fall and crush him.

Birdie adjusted the boys' jackets in her arms, a small smile appearing on her lips when Sam quietly walked towards the car. He suddenly appeared on the ground next to the car, eyes focused on Dean. "Need a flashlight?" he asked, a grin appearing on his lips when he saw Dean jump in surprise.

"No. Don't. . .do anything, just go away."

"You—uh, okay."

"Don't speak. All right? In fact, don't even look at her, she might not like it."

Sam stood back up, chuckling under his breath as he moved to stand beside Birdie again. She shook her head with a grin, letting out a sigh as they heard Dean scratching at something under the car. "Don't you think if the car was a killer it would've done something by now?" Birdie whispered to Sam.

Sam breathed out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders. "Maybe not with witnesses."

Birdie giggled to herself, shaking her head. She looked at the car, her gaze flicking to Dean's legs as he hastily pulled himself out from underneath. He quickly stood up, heavily breathing as his pencil fell to the ground. He walked over to Sam and Birdie and handed the piece of paper to Birdie.

"Find out who owned it," Dean said. "Not just the last owner⎯⎯⎯you gotta take it all the way back to nineteen-fifty-five."

Birdie blinked, looking up at Dean. Sam shifted, giving Dean a look. "That's a lot of research," Sam said.

Dean let out a heavy breath, faintly nodding his head as he looked at them. "Well, I guess I just made your guys' afternoon."

Birdie gaped as Dean took his jacket from her and started to walk away. Birdie scoffed under her breath, turning her head towards Sam. "Did he just give us homework?"

"Yeah, I think he did."

☽ ༓ ☾

Halfway into their research, Birdie had unintentionally fallen asleep. Being tired was a default feeling for her, but this was more than usual. At first she thought it was just because she'd died and came back so her body was getting readjusted. As the days passed, the tiredness just continued, never getting better nor getting worse. Sam noticed the way her eyes would gradually start to droop or when she started speaking softer like the usual signs she was tired, but he stayed silent this time, hoping the sleep would make her feel better.

"NO!"

Sam jumped, his head snapping Birdie's direction. Birdie shot up from the bed, heavily panting with frantic eyes. Sam pushed his chair back from the table and stood up, hurrying over to her. "Birdie, Birdie!" Sam said, grabbing her shoulders to make her look at him. She grabbed his arms, eyes catching Sam's. She started to relax, tightening her grip on him as his presence tethered her back to reality.

"Sam. . .I. . ." Birdie shook her head, a range of emotions still coursing through her veins. She heavily sighed, closing her eyes. Then she let go of Sam and stepped forward, bringing her arms around his torso. Sam's frown only deepened, wrapping his arms around Birdie's smaller frame. His hand moved up and down Birdie's back, trying to calm her down as he could feel her heavy breathing against his chest. "Sam, it was horrible."

"What was?" he asked.

"It. . .it was a nightmare, but it felt so real," Birdie whispered. "There was so much blood, and-and death. Bodies were everywhere, fire. . ." Sam tightened his hold on Birdie, resting his head on top of hers. "I. . .I didn't see anyone I knew, and the view⎯⎯⎯it was like I was just on the side, watching it all unfold."

"It was just a nightmare, Bird," Sam said. "It's okay. We're not gonna let anything like that happen. We're safe, you're safe."

Birdie let out a soft sigh, burrowing her face in Sam's chest. Sam continued to rub her back, feeling some relief when Birdie's breathing calmed down and he felt her relax in his comforting hold. He still didn't let go, waiting until Birdie started to pull away before he removed his arms.

She took a few steps back, offering Sam a small smile. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam softly chuckled. "Bird, you don't have to keep thanking me. It's what friends do."

Friends.

Why did that word suddenly cause a feeling of slight dread to sink into the pit of Birdie's stomach?

"I know," Birdie said, forcing the thought out of her mind. They had more pressing things to think about. "But I am sorry for passing out on you. That was not intentional."

"You sure about that?" Sam teased, walking back over to the table.

Birdie scoffed, rolling her eyes as she sat across from him. "Yes, I'm sure. We had a lot of shit to look through, and it's still probably. . ." Birdie's voice dragged off, her eyes narrowing on Sam when she saw him begin to smile. She leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms. "You finished the homework assignment?"

"I did," Sam smugly replied.

Birdie laughed, leaning forward to rest her head on her hand. "You always were keen on finishing your homework," she said. "You were good at everything."

"Were?" Sam repeated.

Birdie pursed her lips together, waving her hand at the man. "You know what I mean."

Sam laughed and shifted in the chair, letting out a quiet sigh a couple seconds later. "Turns out Dean was afraid of nothing," Sam said. Birdie raised her brows in surprise. "It's a fake Little Bastard. The real one must still be missing."

"Well, that's one mystery solved," Birdie said. "Another one is where the hell is Dean?"

"Beats me," Sam huffed, glancing at his phone. He didn't have any calls or texts from Dean since they parted ways. "Hopefully he's finding another lead."

"I bet he's at a bar," Birdie said.

Sam looked up from his phone, shaking his head. "I'm sure it's very tempting, but he knows we got a case to solve."

Birdie just raised a brow. "Like that's stopped him before?"

"Hey, let's have a little faith in the man," Sam said.

"You're just trying to convince yourself he's not at a bar."

"How much?"

"How much what?" Birdie asked.

"How much do you wanna bet he's not at a bar?"

Birdie couldn't help but laugh. She sat up straight, brows raised with amusement. "You're serious?" Sam nodded. Birdie hummed as she thought, a devious idea coming to her mind. "Fine. If I'm right about Dean being at a bar. . .then you have to⎯⎯⎯"

"Take you on a date?"

Birdie blinked, her lips falling open more. "Um, well. . .I was actually gonna say you had to dress up with me for Halloween. . ."

Sam's eyes noticeably widened and he shifted in his seat. He cleared his throat, spotting a small smile upon Birdie's lips. "Oh, right. I was just-I was just kidding. . ."

"No you weren't," Birdie laughed. "Samuel Winchester, was that your way of hinting that you wanna take me on a date?"

"What? I. . .I mean. . .maybe⎯⎯⎯yeah, it was."

Birdie was unable to hide her surprise at Sam's honesty.

There certainly was something different between them.

The kiss they shared in the lake was evidence enough. But, coming back from the dead and learning she was saved by her not-so-dead father, she hadn't had much time to think about that day.

"Oh, well. . .uh, yeah then," Birdie said, biting the inside of her cheek to stop her smile from growing any bigger. "If Dean's at the bar. . .you owe me a date."

"Okay," Sam nodded, his grin matching Birdie's. "And if he's not. . .you owe me a date."

"Wow, some gentleman you are," Birdie teased. "You're gonna make me pay for a date? I don't have any money!"

"Yes you do," Sam laughed. "I know you still have that money you stole from Bela."

Birdie turned her head slightly, giving Sam a look. "How the hell do you know I still have it?"

Sam smirked. "I'm your best friend, Bird. I know more about you than you think."

"Well that doesn't sound creepy at all," Birdie teased. Sam shot Birdie a glare but she just laughed. "Call Dean. No matter where he is, he needs to bring us food because I'm fuckin' starving."

Sam picked up his phone, clicking on Dean's name. He pressed the speaker button and sat it in the middle of the table so Birdie could also hear and talk to Dean.

"Yo."

"Hey," Sam said, adjusting some papers that were spread around his laptop. "Took us a while, but we traced all the car's previous owners."

Birdie softly smiled, looking at Sam. Birdie hardly did anything, yet he claimed they both had done their research like Dean had oh-so-kindly placed upon them.

"Any of 'em die bloody?"

"Nope. In fact⎯⎯⎯" Someone near Dean broke a triangle of pool balls, causing Sam to pause as the sound registered in his ears. Birdie perked up, her smile already beginning to widen. "Dean, are you in a bar?"

"No, I-I'm-I'm in a restaurant."

"Here's your beer."

"Thanks." Sam shook his head, rolling his eyes. Birdie smugly grinned, silently patting herself on the back for being correct. "That happens to have a bar."

"Me and Bird have been workin' our asses off here."

"Hey, world's smallest violin. I spent the afternoon up Christine's skirt. I needed a drink."

"Actually, you didn't."

"Meaning?"

"The car's first owner was a cardiologist in Philadelphia⎯⎯⎯drove it 'til he died in nineteen-seventy-two."

"So you're saying?"

"It's a fake, you big baby," Birdie chimed in, her triumphant grin still on her lips.

"Well then what was it that killed the guy?"

"Good question."

"Hey Dean?" Birdie asked.

"What?"

"Bring us some food."

Dean scoffed. "This is a classy place, Bird. They don't do take out orders."

"Hey! Fuck you man!"

"No, fuck you!"

Birdie huffed, rolling her eyes at the rugged voices in the background. "Classy my fuckin' ass, Dean. Get us some chicken wings and onion rings⎯⎯⎯"

"I⎯⎯⎯"

"And if you bring it within the hour, I'll let you know how Sam asked me out on a date."

There was a brief moment of silence which was followed by some frantic shuffling. Muffled voices meshed together, causing Sam and Birdie to look at each other in confusion. "I'll be there in twenty," Dean said. "Maybe ten."

Birdie hummed. "Thank you, Dean. I love you!"

"Yeah, yeah. . .love you, too."

Birdie beamed and hung up the phone. Sam was softly smiling, a twinkle in his eyes. His dimples were poking out and crinkles were by the corners of his eyes. He looked so adorable, eyes peering into Birdie in a way she'd never seen before. She sheepishly smiled and leaned back, relaxing into the chair again with her eyes still on Sam.

Birdie didn't realize it, but she was looking at Sam the same way he was looking at her.

But, Sam noticed.

☽ ༓ ☾

Dean was very annoyed when Birdie explained the events leading up to Sam asking her on a date. He was hoping that something incredible had happened in his absence, but finding out it was because of a bet⎯⎯⎯one that involved him and being at a bar no less⎯⎯⎯was a complete and total let down.

Birdie was a little bummed he didn't like it, but she didn't mull over it for too long since he'd still brought them some food. Dean continued to whine about how lame it was how they decided to go on a date, stating that it was one of the most boring ways he'd ever heard. Sam didn't let it bother him, just amused how much Dean was invested in Sam and Birdie's somewhat evolving love life. But, once they were all done eating they each got settled into bed, falling asleep within minutes of one another. Beside Sam, Birdie slept easier, not moving as much and constantly getting closer and closer to him without meaning to. When morning came, one of the first things they heard was that another death had occurred during the night.

A man named William Hill died of a gunshot wound to the head in his office, but there wasn't actually any evidence of that aside from the wound to his brain and the blood splatters on the wall.

A police forensic squad was investigating and photographing the crime scene when Birdie and the boys arrived at the scene. They were back in their suits as they walked into the two-story home, hearing Sheriff Carnegie giving his officers orders. They walked closer and stepped into an office, immediately noticing the blood that was splattered on the wall near William's desk.

"I want you to use a-a fine-tooth comb. The evidence is here, we just gotta find it."

"Heard you got another weird one," Dean said, the three of them coming to a stop in front of the sheriff.

"Uh, well, it's a-it's a little strange on the surface, I admit," the Sheriff said, brushing past the trio as he slipped out of the office. He stopped in the hallway, facing the agents. "But, uh. . .you know, once y-you look at the facts. . ."

"William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head," Sam said, looking directly at Carnegie. "No gun, no gunpowder, no bullet."

Dean nonchalantly shrugged. "Nope. Nothin' strange about that."

Carnegie heavily sighed, shaking his head. "Well there's gotta be a reasonable explanation. There always is."

"Well what's your reasonable explanation?"

Carnegie cautiously looked around for a moment and leaned closer so only the agents could hear him. "Professional killer," he whispered.

Sam raised his brows. "Come again?"

"Well, CIA, NSA, one o' them trained assassins, like in Michael Clayton."

The hunters all but gaped at Carnegie.

"Right," Dean slowly said, glancing at Sam and Birdie.

"You're welcome to look around, but-but these guys don't leave fingerprints."

"Mind if we talk with the witness?" Sam asked.

"Be my guest. She's not making any sense, and she's not making any sense in Spanish either."

Dean slowly nodded. "Right."

Birdie led the way outside, glancing around to try and find the witness. That was when she noticed the green haired boy from the station standing by the side of a house across the street. He darted behind the house when he saw Birdie looking at him, causing her to suspiciously narrow her eyes.

"Bird?" Sam asked.

"You guys go talk to the witness," she said, "There's something I need to check out."

"Wait, what⎯⎯⎯"

Birdie just ignored Sam and jogged towards the crime scene tape, ducking underneath it. The boys' eyes followed her, sharing a look of confusion. "You get any of that?" Dean asked.

"No," Sam sighed.

Dean pursed his lips in thought, shaking his head before lightly smacking Sam's arm. "Come on, I'm sure she'll be fine. I think I see our witness."

Birdie jogged across the street, slowing to a stop when she reached the side of the house. "Hello?" she called out, cautiously walking towards the back where she'd seen the boy disappear to. "Hey, kid?"

She walked around the back of the house, heavily sighing. He wasn't there.

She started to turn away, but then something on the ground caught her eye. She squinted and walked over, crouching down to see what it was. She tilted her head, picking up the small piece of paper. She flipped it over, her confusion only increasing. It was torn, though she could see the letters NTON, which were followed by WAX MUSEUM. She quickly stood up, glancing around. She still didn't see the boy. She huffed under her breath and stuffed the paper in her pocket, turning back around. She made her way back to the crime scene, nodding at the officer who lifted the tape for her to duck underneath.

She walked towards the boys who were still interviewing the witness, Consuela, coming up behind the boys.

"No, no, no, un sombrero alto."

"A hat?"

"A tall hat." Sam and Dean turned their heads, spotting Birdie now standing behind them with her hands in the pockets of her blazer. She glanced at Consuela, offering the older woman a small smile as she suddenly started to speak Spanish. "Lo siento por tu pérdida."

Consuela sadly smiled, nodding towards Birdie. "Gracias," she said.

Dean and Sam both appeared confused and Birdie rolled her eyes. "You guys met my mom," she said. "She made me learn all kinds of languages."

"So he was wearing a tall hat?" Dean asked. "Like a top hat."

"Un sombrero alto." Consuela said, gesturing above her head to emphasize how tall the hat of the killer was. "Muy alto!"

"What, you mean like a-like a stovepipe hat?" Dean said, imitating her gesture.

Consuela nodded. "Sí."

"Oh yeah, like Abraham Lincoln."

Birdie scoffed under her breath, but her eyes snapped back to Consuela when she sucked in a sharp breath, her voice breaking as she spoke again. "Sí. El Presidente Lincoln." Birdie frowned, sharing a confused look with the boys. "Abraham Lincoln kill Mister Hill!"

"Huh," Dean muttered to himself, unsure what to say as he looked between Sam and Birdie.

"S-so I go home now?" Consuela asked.

"Uh, sí," Sam said, giving the woman a quick smile. "Gracias."

"Gracias."

Consuela stood and Birdie offered her a nod before she hurried past them. Birdie let out a heavy breath, shaking her head. She placed her hands on her hips, looking at the boys. "Abraham Lincoln? The 13th President?"

"Yeah⎯⎯⎯wait, he wasn't the 13th. He was the 16th," Sam said, staring at Birdie in confusion. "Millard Fillmore was the 13th President."

"Why? Why do you know that?" Dean asked, focusing his attention on Sam.

"Who cares, alright? This isn't history class," Birdie huffed, throwing her hands out at her sides. "This is a case. So, let's figure out what the hell is going on."

Sam and Dean sat at the table in their motel room, Sam on his laptop and Dean on a new laptop. Birdie was laying on one of the beds, brows knitted together as her eyes raked over the tiny words on her screen. Dean was rewatching the video of Cal's death, hoping to catch something they missed the first few times they watched it. Birdie was trying to dig up some information on both the victims, however her search had strayed from the victims and onto the Canton Wax Museum.

Who was that boy? Why did it seem he was following her? And did he leave the paper behind on purpose?

Birdie shuddered and grimaced when she saw the wax figure of⎯⎯⎯

Whoa," Dean suddenly said.

"What?" Sam and Birdie simultaneously asked, heads turning to look at the oldest Winchester.

He picked up the laptop and turned it around so they could see. Birdie quickly rose from the bed, standing behind Sam and leaning over his shoulder slightly to see the screen. "It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video."

Sam and Birdie both looked at it, staring at the fuzzy figure on the screen. They were in a red jacket, appearing to have brown hair.

"Am I crazy, or does that look like James Dean?" Dean asked.

"That looks like James Dean," Sam said.

"I don't see it," Birdie said.

"What?" Sam and Dean both asked in unison.

Birdie breathed out a laugh, rolling her eyes. "I'm only kidding. Of course I see it."

Dean huffed and grabbed his laptop, bringing it back over to sit in front of him again. "So we got Abraham Lincoln and James Dean?" Birdie shifted her footing, placing one of her hands on her hips and the other on the back of Sam's chair. "Famous ghosts?"

"Maybe."

"Well, that's just silly."

"No, actually, uh, there is a ton of lore on famous ghosts. More than the, you know, not-famous kinds," Sam said. "I'm actually surprised we haven't run into one before."

"Yeah, but now we got two of 'em? Two extremely pissed-off ghosts?"

"Who are apparently ganking their fans." Birdie shifted, looking at Sam's computer screen. It was Professor William Hill's page at the University of Ohio.

"What do you mean?"

"Professor Hill was a Civil War nut," Sam said. "He dug Lincoln."

"And Cal must've been a James Dean freak. He spent seventeen years of his life tracking down the guy's car." Sam raised his eyebrows, giving Dean a look. "So you're saying we've got two super-famous, super-pissed-off ghosts killing their. . .super-fans?"

Sam shrugged. "That's what it looks like."

"Well, that is muchos loco."

Sam chuckled. "'Muy." Dean tapped a few keys and then looked up, a blank look on his face. "Not 'muchos'."

Birdie snickered, shaking her head. She walked around the table, sinking into another chair.

"Yeah, well, the big question is, what the hell are they doing here?" Dean said.

"Yeah. Ghosts usually haunt the places they live. I mean, I get Abraham Lincoln at the White House⎯⎯⎯"

"And James Dean at a race track, but. . .what the hell are they doing in Canton?"

Birdie pursed her lips together, thinking to herself. "What about the. . .the wax museum here?"

"What about it?" Dean asked.

"Well, what if. . .there's a James Dean and a Abraham Lincoln there?"

"You think the wax museum has something to do with it?" Sam wondered.

Birdie just shrugged. "It's just a thought. But, I could be wrong⎯⎯⎯"

"Wait, you might be onto something," Dean interrupted, his eyes focused on his computer. He looked up, gaze switching between Sam and Birdie. "They're there."

"What made you think of the museum?" Sam asked.

"I-I. . .I saw a pamphlet for it at the station," Birdie lied, forcing a smile on her lips when Sam slightly narrowed his eyes.

"Let's go then," Dean said, closing his laptop before rising from his chair.

"Uh, you guys go on without me," Birdie said.

"What? Why?" Dean asked, picking up his jacket.

"Do we all need to go?" Birdie defensively asked, standing up from the chair.

"It was your idea," Sam lightly chuckled.

Birdie playfully rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. "So?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Dean said, a smile spreading across his lips as he took a few steps towards Birdie. "This is about your, uh, doll slash mannequin slash puppet phobia, isn't it?"

Birdie scoffed, gaping at the accusation. "What? No, this⎯⎯⎯no. And I don't have those phobias."

"Really? So if I got you a doll, mannequin, or a puppet⎯⎯⎯"

"Woah, woah," Birdie said, holding a hand out to stop Dean from speaking, "Calm down there, satan. Let's not get fuckin' crazy."

Dean loudly laughed. "I fuckin' knew it. You're still not over that?"

"Dean, come on," Sam said, raising his brows. "It's fine. We're just checkin' the museum out."

"It's just wax figures⎯⎯⎯"

"And a plane is just in the air⎯⎯⎯"

"Planes have turbulence⎯⎯⎯"

"And the other things have evil spirits⎯⎯⎯"

☽ ༓ ☾

The cool weather made Birdie feel content as she walked back to the motel room. Two bags of some snacks, candy, and drinks dangled from her arm. Some of her blonde hair was pulled back into a bun, the rest falling past her shoulders. One headphone was in her ear, playing Somebody's Watching Me by Rockwell and Michael Jackson. The other headphone just dangled down her chest, still wanting to be able to hear if anyone tried to sneak up on her.

She jogged across the street and into the parking lot, doing her best not to shake up the soda too much. She slowed her pace down to walking again, quietly sighing as she saw the door to the motel room getting closer. She started to feel around in her pocket for the key, frowning as she checked another pocket and it wasn't there either. She stopped in front of the door and set the bags on the ground, rummaging through each and every one of her pockets in hopes she'd find her key.

"Missin' something?"

Birdie sharply turned her head, her gaze falling on the green haired boy.

He was leaning up against the wall, a small smile on his lips as he held up a room key━━━Birdie's room key to be exact.

She clenched her jaw, slowly turning so she was fully facing the boy. "Pretty bold," she said, "Especially for someone who's been stalking me all day━━━"

She stepped forward, snatching the room key out of the boy's hand. Then she roughly grabbed his shoulders, slamming him against the wall. His smile fell from his face, panic settling in his eyes when he saw the expression on Birdie's face. "Wait, wait, I can━━━"

Birdie unlocked the room and grabbed the boys collar, shoving him into the room. She picked up the bags and set them inside, slamming the door shut with her foot. Then she reached behind her back, grabbing her gun.

The boy's eyes widened and he instinctively backed up, holding his hands up. "Who are you and the hell are you doin' following me?" Birdie demanded to know, her finger hovering over the trigger button. The gun was at her side, though the boy had a feeling she could aim it at him faster than he could blink.

"I-I promise, it's not what it looks like!"

"Oh, really? So you're not stalking me? Or the boys?"

"No, well, I mean, I guess technically I am━━━" Birdie raised her brows and the boy sighed, scrunching up his face. "Not for the reasons you think! I swear I'm not a monster or anything━━━"

Birdie stiffened, narrowing her eyes. "Monster? Who said anything about monster?" The boy's lips fell open, but no words came out. Birdie slowly nodded, keeping her gaze on the boy. "I'm gonna count to five, and if you haven't told me who you are and why you're stalking me when I get to five, I'm gonna━━━"

"Maverick," the boy said. "M-my name's Maverick."

"Maverick?" Birdie repeated. "Like Tom Cruise's character in Top Gun?"

The boy slightly smiled and nodded. "Yeah, exactly." Birdie shifted her feet, still holding onto her gun with her eyes narrowed. "What were you doing at the wax museum?"

"It's a wax museum. Why would you not go?"

Birdie tilted her head. "Because it's a wax museum."

Maverick shook his head, a look of fear suddenly appearing on his face as if he'd just realized something. "I. . .god, he's gonna kick my ass when he finds out I'm here━━━"

"Who?"

"Uh. . .I. . .my dad, adopted dad. . .he's friends with your dad. . ."

Birdie kept her face stoic. "My dad's dead."

Maverick rolled his eyes, smiling. "No, he's not, and I know you know that."

Birdie furrowed her brows together, shaking her head. She was only coming up with more questions with each of the boys' responses. "What the fuck is going on here?" she demanded. "Is this some fucked up joke?"

"He didn't send me if that's what you're thinking," Maverick said, somehow knowing what Birdie was beginning to wonder. "I'm actually supposed to be at a friends, but when I overheard your dad talking to my dad about you and the Winchesters. . .I had to see you guys for myself."

"Why?" Birdie asked, face scrunching together in confusion.

"Why?" Maverick laughed. "Because you guys are freaking awesome!"

Birdie stared at the boy, shaking her head a few seconds later. "Okay, I. . .I have no idea what's going on right now, and quite frankly I got too much on my mind to worry about a fanboy stalker━━━"

"Hey, I'm not━━━"

"So, why don't you just head on home?" Birdie said, grabbing the boy and nudging him out of the motel room.

Maverick frowned as he stood outside the room, looking at Birdie. "Wait, aren't you gonna check if I'm a monster?"

"I already did," Birdie said. She wiggled her finger, a ring slipped on her index finger━━━a ring made out of silver. "And there's a Devil's Trap under the rug. You're clean. Now, go home before Sam and Dean get back, and they won't be as friendly as me."

"Birdie━━━"

Birdie shut the door, locking it in case Maverick got any ideas.

He heavily sighed and turned, scratching the back of his head. "That was friendly?"

When Sam and Dean returned, Maverick was gone. Birdie didn't know where he went, but she hoped he went home like she suggested. She decided against mentioning him to the boys, knowing how fragile their relationships were still as they attempted to make up for their past mistakes. She didn't need them worrying about another thing when they were already on a case.

During Sam and Dean's trip to the wax museum, they discovered that both victims were in fact frequent visitors. According to the owner, some of the props for the figures were in fact real━━━such as Abraham Lincoln's hat and James Deans' keychain. With those being considered personal artifacts, it was decided they would go back to the museum after closing to put a stop to the ghosts and prevent further killings.

"I still don't see why I have to go," Birdie grumbled, glancing at Sam as she loaded her shotgun with rock salt filled shells. "There's two ghosts and there's two of you. You don't need me."

"C'mon, Bird. I think if you can face your fear of swimming, you can face this fear."

Birdie huffed, putting the gun in the trunk. "Says you. You're still afraid of freakin' clowns!"

Sam stammered. "W-you are, too!"

Birdie opened her mouth, watching Sam just raise his brows. Birdie narrowed her eyes, huffing and turning towards the trunk again. "I just want to point out that I must really like you and Dean if I'm willing to go."

Sam chuckled, putting the last shotgun in the trunk. "Trust me, we know."

Birdie playfully rolled her eyes, nudging Sam with her elbow. He chuckled and closed the trunk, putting the keys in his pocket. He and Birdie returned to the room, hearing Dean talking. They looked over to the other side of the room where he stood with his back to them and his phone pressed to his ear.

"Yeah, Abraham Lincoln and James Dean, can you believe that? Why so kill-crazy? Ah, maybe the apocalypse has got 'em all hot and bothered. Yeah, well, we all know whose fault that is. . .well, I'm sorry, but it's true." Birdie's lips parted, her hand dropping down at her side when she heard those words. Sam frowned, pushing the door shut so Dean would hear it close. Dean quickly turned around, noticing Sam and Birdie. There was no doubt in his mind that they heard him. "I'll call you later. Bye."

Birdie took a few steps into the room, unable to tear her gaze away from Dean.

"What's going on?" Sam wondered.

"You guys get the trunk packed up?" Dean asked, ignoring Sam's question.

Yeah, trunk's packed. Who was on the phone?"

"Bobby."

"And?"

Dean nonchalantly shook his head. "Nothin'."

Birdie scoffed, closing her eyes as a fake smile spread across her lips. "Yeah, okay," she said, opening her eyes to look at Dean.

"So we're just gonna pretend me and Bird didn't hear what we just heard?" Sam asked, falsely smiling at Dean.

Dean shrugged again. "Pretend or don't pretend. Whatever floats your boat."

"This was supposed to be a fresh start, Dean."

Dean picked up his jacket, glancing between Sam and Birdie. "Well, this is about as fresh as it gets. Now are we going or not?"

Birdie turned, her eyes following Dean as he left the room. She bit her tongue, shaking her head as she shared a look with Sam. "How long do you think he's been holding just that in?" she asked.

Sam scoffed out a laugh, gaze still fixated on the door. "Too long."

The car ride was rather awkward to say the least. There was at least music playing to avoid having any silence between the three hunters. Dean didn't say much, just keeping his focus on the road while occasionally adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. Sam and Birdie exchanged words here and there, but even then it wasn't much. When they arrived at the museum, they all just got out and grabbed their shotguns from the trunk and snuck inside.

They walked through the museum, past Gandhi. Birdie couldn't help but grimace and shudder with each wax figure she saw, chills constantly running up and down her spine whenever she accidentally made eye contact with one of them.

Dean approached Abraham Lincoln and took off his hat as Sam fetched a metal trash can. Birdie lowered her gun and turned, doing a double take when she saw Dean was now wearing Lincoln's hat.

"Check it out," Dean said. Dean lowered his voice when he spoke again, imitating Lincoln. "Four score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat."

"Funny," Birdie said, a blank expression on her face.

"Dean." Sam sighed and put the trash can down, holding his hand out for the hat.

"I can't have any fun with this?" Dean asked.

Birdie just shrugged. "Yeah, well, we know whose fault that is."

Dean rolled his eyes, taking the hat off and tossing it into the trash can.

"Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts, get outta here. Okay?" Sam asked.

"I'll go grab East of Eden's keychain." Dean muttered, walking off before anyone had the chance to respond.

Sam glanced over at Birdie and she sighed, giving him a small smile. "Be on the lookout," Sam said. "I don't think you want any of these coming for you."

"Fuck no I don't," Birdie muttered, tightening her hold on the shotgun. "I think I'd actually prefer a clown to come for me."

Sam quietly laughed, glancing around. Birdie took a few steps to the side, tilting her head when she thought she saw something move in another room. She bit the inside of her cheek, creeping closer with her gun raised. There wasn't much light in the museum, but the window curtains were pulled open, allowing her to see what she assumed was a "kid section" as there was a Hannah Montana, Louis Stevens, Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and worst of all: Goosebumps' very own Slappy.

Birdie's eyes widened in horror, jaw dropping. "What the. . .they made a wax figure of a puppet?" she whispered in horror. "Jesus Christ. . .this is the ninth circle of hell."

"Birdie?"

Birdie turned at the sound of Sam's voice, and just in time for the door to slam shut.

"Sam!" She shouted, rushing towards the door. She pushed and pulled on the doors, but they were now locked. "Sam!"

"Shit, uh, hold tight!" Sam shouted. "I'm gonna see if I can find something to pry it open!"

Birdie grunted and turned around, biting her lip as she glanced around the room. Her eyes unintentionally landed on Slappy again, nervously gulping as the figure just stared back at her. "Listen, uh. . .if you leave me alone. . .I'll leave you alone. . .deal?"

There was no response.

Birie let out a sigh, running a hand over her face.

"SHIT!"

Birdie dropped her hand down, realizing that was Sam.

She tried opening the doors again, but it didn't work. She could still hear Sam struggling on the other side, urging her to move faster.

Birdie ran to the middle of the room and then turned towards the door, letting out a heavy breath. Then she rushed at the doors, ramming her entire body into it. She grunted as the doors broke open, falling to the floor along with one of the now broken doors. She let out a hiss from pain, blinking in confusion as she stared at the broken door next to her. Sam loudly groaned and Birdie's head snapped in his direction. Her eyes widened when she saw Gandhi hanging onto Sam's back, arms wrapped around his throat as he strangled him.

"Shit!" Birdie shouted, scrambling to her feet.

Dean came in through the other set of doors at that same moment, looking at Sam in confusion. "Is that Gandhi?" he asked.

"Yeah!" Sam painfully replied.

"Dude, he's squirrelly."

"Dean!" Birdie scolded, shooting daggers at the man with her harsh glare.

"Guys! Get the━━━"

Gandhi elbowed Sam in the chest, winding him so he couldn't speak. Sam indicated Gandhi's wax figure with a shake of his head, causing Dean and Birdie to rush over to it. Gandhi's statue was wearing circular glasses, a white smock, and one of his hands was holding a cane. Birdie figured that perhaps the glasses or the cane could've been what was considered as the remains, but she wasn't for sure.

"Do it!"

"Get the what?" Dean hastily asked.

"Glasses!"

Birdie snatched the glasses off the wax figure, rushing over to the trash can by Abraham Lincoln. Sam began to gasp and choke, running out of oxygen as Gandhi tightened his grip. Dean pulled the lighter fluid out of one of the bags, pouring a hefty amount into the trash can. Then he yanked the lighter out of his pocket and flicked it open. He dropped it into the trash as soon as it lit, instantly starting a fire as it touched the fluid. Gandhi disappeared moments later and Sam frantically gasped for air, his hand going to his throat as he slouched forward.

Birdie let out a sigh of relief, leaning forward as she placed her hands on her knees. Dean took a few steps towards Sam, scrunching his face as he looked at his little brother. "You couldn't have been a fan of someone cool?" he asked. Birdie scoffed under her breath, turning her head. Sam just stared, still continuing to catch his breath. "Really? Gandhi?"

"Hey, I'll take it," Birdie said, motioning to the room she'd been trapped in. "It's better than what fresh hell is in that room."

"Oh, you mean Slappy? I thought he was your favorite," Dean snickered.

Birdie slowly turned her head, pointing a finger at Dean. "Don't fucking start with me."

☽ ༓ ☾

"Ready to blow this joint?" Dean asked, stuffing the rest of his shirts into his duffle bag as they prepared to leave now that the case was over.

Sam walked out of the bathroom, zipping up his toiletries bag. "Didn't it strike you guys as strange the way Gandhi just. . .vanished?"

Dean picked up some jeans, putting them in his bag. "Strange how?"

"No screaming, no big flame-out. I mean, that isn't the way ghosts usually go."

"Still⎯⎯⎯I torched, he vanished."

Birdie zipped up her bag, sitting on the edge of the bed. "I mean, it wasn't the usual way they go out, but they did go away."

"Yeah, but I. . ." Sam sighed, walking towards the other bed where his bag was placed. "Also, I feel like he was. . .trying to take a bite out of me."

"A bite?" Dean repeated.

"Yeah, like he was hungry. But the thing is, Gandhi⎯⎯or, the real Gandhi⎯⎯he was a. . ."

"A what?" Dean pressed, raising his brows. Sam hesitated, stealing a look at Birdie. "Spit it out."

"He was a fruitarian."

Dean stared at Sam, laughing after a few seconds. "Let me get this straight. Your, uh, ultimate hero was not only a short man in diapers, but he was also a fruitarian?"

"Dean," Birdie said, giving the man a look.

"That's not the point," Sam said. "And he's not my ultimate hero. He just did a few good things."

"That is good. That is⎯⎯even for you, that is good."

"Look, I'm just saying, I'm not so sure this thing is over."

Dean paused from packing, holding his arms out. "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 us into town, and now you're draggin' us back out."

Birdie bit the inside of her cheek, gaze moving to Dean.

"You guys ain't steering this boat," Dean said, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Let's go, chop chop."

"You know, this isn't gonna work," Sam replied, turning around to face Dean.

Dean stopped by the door, his eyes flickering between Sam and Birdie. "What isn't?" he asked.

"Us. I-I thought it could, but it can't," Sam said, his hands going to his hips.

"You're the ones that wanted back in, pal."

"And you're the one who called us back in."

"I still think we got some trust building to do."

"How long are we gonna be on double-secret probation?"

Dean shrugged. "Till I say so."

"Dean, come on," Birdie said, throwing her hand up and letting it fall down in her lap. "The attitude, the avoidance. . .it's just not gonna work━━━not this time."

Dean shook his head, adjusting his bag.

"Look. . .I know what I did," Sam said. "What I've done. And I am trying to climb out of that hole, I am, but you're not making it any easier."

Dean slightly tilted his head as he spoke, "So what am I supposed to do, just let you off the hook?"

"No. You can think whatever you want. I deserve it, and worse. Hell, you'll never punish me as much as I'm punishing myself." Birdie's expression faltered, looking at Sam. "But the point is, if we're gonna be a team, the three of us━━━it has to be a two-way street."

"So we just go back to the way we were before?" Dean asked.

"No, because we were never that way before. 'Before' didn't work." Dean frowned. "How do you think we got here?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked, scoffing out a laugh.

"Dean, one of the reasons I went off on my own. . .was to get away from you."

Dean looked surprised as did Birdie. "What?"

"It made me feel strong. Like I wasn't your kid brother."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, mulling over Sam's words. "Are you saying this is my fault?" he demanded to know.

"No, it's my fault."

"It's not like you did it alone, Sam," Birdie said. "I. . .I played a big part in it, too. And had I known. . .I wouldn't have done any of it. But, I did and I can't go back and change that."

Sam offered her a small smile, looking at Dean again. "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."

Dean's cell phone rang, interrupting their conversation. He stared at Sam and Birdie, reluctantly putting his bag down before he answered the call. "Yeah? Yeah. Yeah, okay." Dean hung up, sighing as his arm fell to his side. "I guess you were right about this not being over."

☽ ༓ ☾

Birdie was glad the boys didn't question her decision to hang back when they went to the station. She wasn't exactly sure what happened, but it sounded like the latest attack happened within the last hour and left not one but two witnesses. Birdie got back on her laptop, trying to see if she could find out what they were dealing with while the boys interviewed the witnesses. If it wasn't a ghost, she wasn't sure what else it could've been. But, she was going to do her best to figure it out before the latest victim was killed.

Sam and Dean had been gone for almost an hour when there was a knock on the door. Birdie let out an annoyed sigh, setting her computer off to the side. She picked her gun off from the bedside table and crept towards the door, peeking out of the peephole. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me," Birdie grumbled. She grabbed the door handle, slightly opening the door to peek out. "What the hell do you want?"

Maverick sighed, offering the older woman a small smile. "Can we talk?"

"We have nothing to talk about, kid," Birdie said. "Why don't you just go home?"

"Please, Birdie? I-I've been following your guys' case and I⎯⎯⎯"

"You've what?" Birdie asked, furrowing her brows together.

"After I started observing you guys⎯⎯⎯"

Birdie rolled her eyes, opening the door more. She grabbed Maverick's arm, pulling him into the room. He stumbled forward but Birdie helped him straighten up and then let go. "What is your deal, kid?" she sighed, folding her arms.

"I already told you. I wanted to meet you."

Birdie closed her eyes, pushing some hair out of her face. "You're very persistent."

Maverick grinned. "So I've been told."

Birdie blinked, shaking her head. "Do you really think that's a compliment?"

"Yes," Maverick nodded.

Birdie shook her head, a small smile appearing on her lips. "Okay, fine, but not here."

"Why not here?"

"Because Sam and Dean will be back soon and I don't think you wanna get interrogated by them."

Maverick paused, thinking for a moment. "Yeah, okay. Not here."

There was a library a few blocks over⎯⎯⎯far from most of the town but still in the open that, if Maverick was lying to Birdie, he couldn't do anything that wouldn't go unnoticed.

They sat at a table near the back of the building, still in clear view of the front desk that was occupied by two library assistants and a librarian. A few books were stacked at the end of the table, one in front of Birdie as a guise to not draw too much suspicion to her and Maverick. "You really just wanted to meet me. . .because of what you've heard about me from my dad?" Birdie asked.

Maverick nodded. "I mean, yeah. You're freaking awesome! And the Winchesters are too, but you-you were only eight when you stopped a freaking group of ghosts who were possessing pupp⎯⎯⎯"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Birdie interjected, waving her hand and shaking her head to get Maverick to stop talking. His smile slightly fell, knitting his brows together as he looked at Birdie. She lowered her hand, tilting her head. "I was just doing what my parents raised me to do, that's all. That's all Sam and Dean do, too. That. . .that's what being a hunter is. It's nothing special, Maverick."

"But you still do it, even when most people would run the other way," Maverick replied. "You've saved hundreds of lives, and all before you were even in double digits. That can't be said for a lot of hunters."

Birdie softly sighed, glancing down at the table. "It's just doing a job, really."

Maverick shifted in the chair, resting his arms on the table. "Then why don't you find something else?"

"What?"

"You don't sound too happy with it, so why don't you find something else?"

"I. . ." Birdie shakes her head, sitting up straight. "Stop. This isn't a therapy session, alright? I just wanted to know why you kept following me."

"I wasn't⎯⎯⎯"

Birdie jumped, wincing when her phone started to loudly ring. She pressed the sound button as she picked it up, recognizing it as Sam's ringtone. She gave Maverick a look, telling him to be quiet as she put the phone to her ear. "Hey," she said.

"Hey, where are you?" he asked. "We found your note that you went on a walk, but it's been a while. . ."

"Oh, I just. . .made a stop at the gas station."

"Why?"

"Because I ran out of Oreos," Birdie lied.

Sam chuckled. "Of course. Uh, I checked the vics⎯⎯⎯all of them had seeds in the stomachs."

"Seeds?" Birdie grimaced.

"Yeah. They're from a forest in the Balkans, but it's not even there anymore. It was chopped down over thirty years ago."

"Then how's it still around?"

"Legend has it that the forest was guarded by a pagan god whose name was Leshi. It was a mischievous god that could take on infinite forms and. . .could be appeased only with the blood from his worshippers."

Birdie gagged, shaking her head in disgust. "That's fuckin' gross."

"What is?" Maverick whispered.

Birdie shot him a glare and put a finger to her lips. "How do we stop it?"

"You have to chop its head off with an iron axe."

"Oh, well, that sounds easy," she scoffed. "What's it look like right now?"

"Paris Hilton."

"We gotta chop off Paris Hilton's head?"

Maverick eyes widened, as did the librarian's who was walking past them at that exact moment. Birdie nervously laughed, sheepishly shrugging her shoulders. "It's-it's for a college skit," she told the librarian. "It's for extra credit."

The librarian nodded, adjusting the books she had tucked in her arms. "Oh. Have fun with that then."

Birdie smiled, waiting until the woman walked away before she put the phone closer to her ear again. "Who was that?" Sam asked.

"Just some woman who overheard part of our conversation."

"Okay. . .Uh, we think the Leshi's staying at the museum, but if you're not up for it again. . ."

"Sam, it's okay," Birdie softly said. "You guys go on ahead and I'll meet you there."

"Meet us there? But the ga⎯⎯⎯"

"Just trust me. I know what we're doing."

"We?" Maverick repeated.

"We?" Sam asked. "What do you⎯⎯⎯"

"I'll see you boys soon."

"Are you sure they're here?"

"Yes, I'm sure they're here," Birdie harshly whispered, turning her head towards Maverick. They crept through the museum, having found the back door already unlocked; Sam or Dean's doing. "This is where they said they were going. And, did you not notice Dean's car out in the parking lot?"

Maverick huffed, shooting her a glare. "He's not the only person in the world with one of those."

Birdie opened her mouth, but then she just shook her head. She walked forward, staying ahead of Maverick so he was safely blocked behind her. Up ahead, there was a door with a sign on it reading 'Sorry for the inconvenience. CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS. Beneath that one was another sign: DANGER DO NOT ENTER.

"If a door says do not enter, what do you do?" Birdie asked, glancing over her shoulder at Maverick.

"Uh, don't go in?" he replied. Birdie pursed her lips together and Maverick cleared his throat. "That's if you're an average person. If you're a hunter. . .you go in. . .because it's your job."

"I was just trying to ask what you usually did. . ."

"Oh. . ." Maverick slowly said, blinking at Birdie.

She shook her head, chuckling under her breath. She walked through the door, taking note of the broken latch. She pushed through a plastic sheet, finding a room decorated like a clearing in the woods with a path leading up the middle of a white house with a wax figure of a man in a suit standing on the front porch. There was an unconscious, young woman standing next to a tree and tied to it.

Paris Hilton⎯⎯⎯the Leshi⎯⎯⎯was standing in front of Dean, both him and Sam also tied to fake trees. Birdie and Maverick ducked down, and Birdie caught Sam's eye. Panic and confusion was evident in his eyes, but his gaze moved to the Leshi when she walked away from Dean, stopping on the other side of the room where an ax was embedded into a fake tree.

She went to touch the ax, but Dean suddenly broke free from the ropes. He sprinted across the clearing and tackled Leshi to the floor.

Sam desperately pulled at his ropes, but it wasn't working.

Birdie hurried forward, jumping over a stump as she rushed to Sam. She pulled a knife from her pocket, fervently sawing at the ropes. "Birdie, who's the kid?" Sam asked.

"I"ll explain later," Birdie said.

"Leave him alone!"

Birdie looked over, gasping when Maverick ran at the Leshi as she repeatedly punched Dean in the face. She stood up when Maverick got closer, harshly pushing him to the ground right when he reached her. "Shit," Birdie said, finally freeing Sam.

The Leshi harshly looked down at Maverick, watching him writhe in pain. "Ooh, and dessert brought itself. Sweet." Sam dashed over the clearing, Birdie right behind him. The Leshi turned, grunting as Birdie plowed into her and knocked her on the ground. Sam pulled the ax from the tree, moving over to Leshi. Birdie rolled away from the Leshi and grabbed Maverick, pulling him over near Dean.

The Leshi looked up, gasping as Sam brought the axe down on her neck, striking four more times until the head was completely removed from the body. Her head rolled away and Sam panted in exertion, his face now covered in blood, dripping down from his chin.

Dean looked up, seeing Sam begin to grin.

Dean shook his head, holding up a finger, "Not a word," he said.

"Dude. You just got whaled on by Paris Hilton."

"Shut up."

Dean layed back down on the ground and grunted in pain, holding his head.

Maverick faintly shook his head, turning his head to look at Birdie. "Just another day on the job, huh?"

Birdie breathed out a laugh, shrugging her shoulders. "Yeah, pretty much."

☽ ༓ ☾

Maverick could sense that the Winchesters were still uncertain of him even after he explained himself. They believed his reason as to why he was there, however it struck them as odd as it had to Birdie. He also reminded them of Birdie in a sense, something about the way he talked about his interests, his excitement evident in his eyes and voice. He would ramble and begin to get off topic, catching himself and getting back on track much like the older woman. Spending a little more time with him and getting the sense of who he was, Birdie was gradually beginning to warm up to the kid. However, there was still something gnawing at her in the back of her mind.

It was the next morning and Maverick had spent the night at the motel, sleeping on the couch in awkward positions all night. When they all awoke, they started packing up their things, Maverick helping Dean load some of his things into the trunk of the Impala.

"So, have you thought about visiting your dad?" Sam asked, glancing over at Birdie. Dean and Maverick were still outside, small smiles on their lips as they talked by the car.

Birdie zipped up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "Yeah," she nodded. "I'm gonna see him."

"Really?"

"Well, yeah. He said he needed to talk to me about something important."

Sam shifted, suspiciously narrowing at Birdie. "And?"

Birdie paused, cocking a brow. "And what?"

"There's another reason," Sam said. Birdie sighed, shaking her head. "You think he sent Maverick here to check on you, don't you?"

Birdie looked at Sam, throwing her arms out in defeat. "Some random kid that none of us know shows up right in the middle of a case⎯⎯⎯a case that my father knew we were working on⎯⎯⎯and he just happens to know my dad and that he's alive?"

"He said he wanted to meet you⎯⎯⎯"

"Do you really buy that?" Birdie asked, tilting her head at Sam.

Sam sighed, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe?"

Birdie just rolled her eyes, starting to head for the door. "Well, we're gonna find out when we meet up with my dad. And, he better tell the truth."

Sam frowned but followed Birdie, closing the door as they left the Nite Owl Motel for good. They approached the Impala, smiling when Dean and Maverick turned to face them.

"Sheriff Carnegie called while you two were still inside," Dean said. "Danielle's gonna be alright. She's sworn off The Simple Life, but other than that. . ."

"Glad she's okay," Sam said.

"It gets better⎯⎯⎯Sheriff's putting out an APB on Paris Hilton." Dean chuckled, taking Birdie's bag from her to put it into the trunk. "That oughta be good."

Birdie playfully rolled her eyes. "I'm sure TMZ will be all over that."

"Oh, I'm countin' on it," Dean said.

Birdie chuckled, glancing at Maverick. "You riding with us?"

"Sure he is," Dean said, patting Maverick's back. "We're all goin' to the same place, so might as well, right?"

"The same place?" Sam asked.

Maverick nodded. "Sort of. My dad has a room just a few doors down from Reese, so. . ."

"I see."

Dean nodded, turning towards Maverick. "Why don't you go make sure you got everything out of the room," he said, handing the room key to him.

"Sure," he nodded, taking the key. He walked off, their eyes following him as he slipped into the motel room.

Dean quietly sighed, causing Sam and Birdie to look at him. "Hey, listen, I was thinking about what you said yesterday⎯⎯⎯about me keeping too tight of a leash on you⎯⎯⎯both of you," Dean said, glancing between the two. "Hell, maybe you're right. I mean, look, I'm not exactly Mister Innocent in this whole mess either, you know. I did break the first seal."

"You didn't know," Sam said.

"Yeah, well, neither did you. None of us knew." Sam looked down and Birdie twisted her lips, rubbing her fingers together. "I'm not saying demon blood was a great way to go, but, you did kill Lilith."

"And start the apocalypse."

"Which none of us saw coming. I mean, who'd have thought killing Lilith would've been a bad thing?" Birdie nodded, giving him a tiny smile. Not once did that thought even begin to cross her mind. "Point is, I was so worried about watching your every move that I didn't see what it was actually doing to you. And Birdie. . .I was so wrapped up in what Sam was doing, I didn't even notice what was going on with you until it was too late."

"It's okay, Dean," Birdie said. "I. . .I tried my damndest to hide it from you. But. . .I should've known better."

Dean softly chuckled, giving her a small smile. "I'm sorry, to both of you."

"Thanks."

"Thanks, Dean."

Dean smiled, closing the trunk. "So where do we go from here?"

"The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this," Sam said.

"What's that?" Dean asked.

"Maybe I am on deck for the devil, maybe same with you and Michael, maybe there's no changing that."

Birdie deeply frowned. "Sam."

"Well that's encouraging," Dean said.

"But, we can stop wringing our hands over it," Sam said, looking between his brother and Birdie. "We just gotta grab onto whatever's in front of us, kick its ass, and go down fighting."

Dean considered Sam's word, eventually nodding in agreement. "I can get on board with that."

Sam looked at Birdie, raising his brows with a small smile.

She reluctantly sighed. "Okay."

Sam nodded, looking at Dean again. "And we're gonna have to do it on the same level."

Dean slightly grinned. "You got it."

Maverick came jogging back right after, tossing Dean his keys as he stopped beside Sam. "All clean in there."

"Alright," Dean said. "I say we get the hell outta here."

"Hell yeah."

They turned to go to their respective sides of the car, but Dean stopped and looked down at the keys. "Hey." Sam and Birdie turned around and saw Dean holding the keys out to Sam. "You wanna drive?"

Sam looked down at the keys and then back at Dean. "You sure?"

"Yeah, Dean. Are you sure?" Birdie teased.

Dean laughed, nodding his head. "Yeah, I could, uh. . .I could use a nap."

Birdie scoffed, throwing a hand up. "So it's fine if you wanna take a nap, but it's a big deal when I do?"

"That's because you take five naps a day," Dean defended.

"You say that like it's a problem."

Sam rolled his eyes with a grin, looking at Maverick who looked amused yet slightly afraid. "There's a reason they say to never meet your heroes," he said. "You better buckle up. It might be a bumpy ride."

☽ ༓ ☾

I really dipped for a bit huh 😅

For a few months I wasn't writing for any of my stories really, just making edits instead. + work was super busy for a bit and I had just family stuff going on (nothing bad, just lots of events). But!!! I think I might've gotten back into the groove of writing??? I'm not promising anything, though. My inspiration was really fleeting for this story for a bit (which hadn't happened before with THIS specific book), but I think since I finally finished pre writing the chapter I was STUCK ON. But enough of that!!

I hope you guys liked this and aren't too mad/upset you had to wait so long for this 😅