*(y/n)'s POV*

"So, what's with this job?" Sam asked Dean as we drive down the long empty road. "Dude suffers a head-on collision in a parked car? I'd say that's worth checking out." Dean said. "Yeah, definitely, uh, but, uh, we got bigger problems, don't you think?" I asked Dean, curiously. "I'm sure the apocalypse'll still be there when we get back." Dean said and I shake my head.

"Right, yeah, but I mean, if—if the Colt is really out there somewhere—" Sam said but Dean shakes his head. "Hey, we've been looking for three weeks, we got bupkis." Dean said. "Okay. But Dean...I mean, if we're gonna—ice the Devil—" Sam said, a bit cautious, but Dean yells. "This is what we're doing! Okay? End of discussion."

Sam looks away and sighs. "It's just that this is our first real case, back at it together. You know, I, I think we oughta ease into it, put the training wheels back on." Dean said. "So you think I need training wheels." Sam said, questioning. "No, 'we'. 'We' need training wheels, you, me and (y/n). As a team. Okay?" Dean said and Sam nods. "Okay." he said.

"Man, I really want this to be a fresh start, you know? For all of us." Dean said and we all look at each other before Sam nods again. "Okay." Sam said.

Canton, Ohio

The boys and I, wearing suits, show our FBI badges to the sheriff once we enter his office. "Agents Bonham, Page and Copeland." Dean said and the sheriff shakes our hands. "Rick Carnegie. Good to know ya. So you're here on account of Cal Hawkins' death?" he asked us. "That's right." Sam said.

"Well, 'fraid you came a long way for nothing. We already booked the guy that did it." Rick said and the boys and I frown at each other. "I'm sorry; who do you think did it?" I asked him.

Rick takes us to the interview room and has us watching a video. "Cal? Is something wrong?" a guy asked as he comes up to Cal, only to see his head smashed into the windshield. "Oh my God, Cal. Cal!" the guy shouts, frantically, and the video cuts to static. Rick shakes his head, then switches off the TV and drops the remote on the table and turns to us.

"Sicko taped his own handiwork." Rick tells us and we give him a look of confusion. "I don't follow." Sam said. "It was Jim Grossman that killed Cal." Rick said. "Wait, what?" Dean asked. "Well, he was the only one on the scene for miles." Rick said. "They were best friends." I pointed out.

"Most violent crimes are committed by someone close to the victim." Rick said. "And how exactly did Jim slam Cal into a windshield with all the force of an eighty-mile-per-hour crash?" Dean asked him and Rick blinks. "Drugs, maybe?" he suggests, weakly, and Dean raises his eyebrows.

"Look, you know this ain't brain surgery! Whatever it looks like, that's what it usually is. It's simple." Rick said. "Simple. Right." I said, a bit of sarcasm in my voice, then I glance over at the boys. "Right. Um, if you don't mind, we'd like to speak to Jim Grossman anyway." Sam asked.

Later, Jim sits at a table, across from Sam, as Dean and I stand behind Sam. "I was in the house when it happened, I didn't even see it." Jim explains.  "For argument's sake, say we believe you." Dean said. "Why would you? The cops didn't." Jim grumbles. "Well we're not your typical cops." I said. "Please, just tell us what you saw." Sam pleads and Jim sighs before he speaks again.

"It's not what I saw, it's what I heard. Tires squealing, glass breaking." he said and he sighs again. "It was the car that did it." he said and I raise my eyebrows. "The car?" Sam asked, confused "I mean, I heard about the curse, but, I just thought it was a load of crap." Jim said.

"Curse, what do you—what do you mean, curse?" Dean asked. "The car. Little Bastard." Jim said and my jaw drops. "Li—Little Bastard? As in the Little Bastard?" I asked, astonished. "Wait, wait, wait, wait, uh, what's Little Bastard?" Sam asked as he turns to us. "It's James Dean's car. It's the one he was killed in." Dean said.

"Yeah, that's the one. Cal had been looking for it for years. I mean, hell, we both had. But he found it first." Jim said and Dean leans closer to Sam. "Oh, we are definitely checking this out." he whispers.

Dean walks around and inspects Little Bastard with awe, careful not to touch, and honestly I was admiring the car as well. The windshield was bloodstained and had a piece missing where Cal's head was. "So, what, this is, like, Christine?" Sam asked and Dean and I shake our heads.

"Christine is fiction. This—This is real." Dean said. "Okay. Enlighten me." Sam said and I roll my eyes. "Well after James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage, and he fixed it up. And it repaid him by...Falling on him." I explained. "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." Dean added and Sam hums at this.

"Then, in nineteen-seventy, it vanished off the back of a truck. Nobody's ever seen it since." I said and Sam nods as Dean continues to look at the car. "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." Dean said.

"So how do we find out?" Sam asked. "Cal matched the VIN number, but the only real way to know is the engine number." Dean replied and Sam nods. "I'm guessing the engine number—?" Sam asked, trailing the on the question.  "On the engine. Yeah." I said then we take our jackets off and the boys had their sleeves rolled, all of us staring at Little Bastard with trepidation.

"You want me or (y/n) to do it?" Sam asked Dean. "No..No, no, I've—I've got it." Dean said then he starts to address Little Bastard. "Okay, baby. I'm not gonna hurt you, so...don't hurt me." he said and he lies down on a roller board with a pencil in his mouth, then rolls himself under the car.

He was under there for a bit and I could've sworn i heard the car shudder. Sam then kneels down to look at Dean. "Need a flashlight?" Sam asked him. "No. Don't...do anything, just go away." I hear Dean say, which he sounded a bit startled.

"You—uh, okay." Sam asked. "Don't speak. All right? In fact, don't even look at her, she might not like it." Dean said and Sam stands back up. He looks over at me and huffs out a breath while I shrug.

Then Dean slides out from under the car, exhaling deeply, then stands up quickly. He composes himself, then hands Sam the number. "Find out who owned it. Not just the last owner, you gotta take it all the way back to nineteen-fifty-five." Dean tells him. "That's a lot of research." Sam said to him. "Well, (y/n) can help you." Dean said and he walks away.

It took us a few hours, but Sam and I were able to track down the history of the car. Dean hadn't returned so I called him. "Hey, sweetheart." Dean answered. "Hey. Took us a while, but we traced all the car's previous owners." I said then I put him on speaker so Sam could hear.

"Any of 'em die bloody?" Dean asked. "Nope. In fact—" I said but then I heard the sound of someone playing pool. "Dean, are you in a bar?" I asked him. "No, I—I'm—I'm in a restaurant." Dean said then I hear a female voice say. "Here's your beer."

"Thanks." Dean said and Sam and I share a look, which made Sam smile a bit. "That happens to have a bar." Dean adds. "We've been working our asses off here." Sam said. "Hey, world's smallest violin, pal, I spent the afternoon up Christine's skirt. I needed a drink." Dean said. "Actually, you didn't." I said.

"Meaning?" Dean asked. "The car's first owner was a cardiologist in Philadelphia; drove it 'til he died in nineteen-seventy-two." Sam said. "So you're saying?" Dean asked. "That Porsche is not, nor has it ever been, James Dean's car. It's a fake Little Bastard." I said. 

"Well then what was it that killed the guy?" Dean asked. "Good question." Sam said as I scratch my head. 

The next day, the boys and I enter the home of a Mr Hill as we heard he was murdered. We entered the office area to see Rick and a forensic squad inside and Rick was giving orders. "I want you to use a, a fine-tooth comb. The evidence is here, we just gotta find it." Rick ordered.

"Heard you got another weird one." Dean said and Rick turns to us. "Uh, well, it's a—it's a little strange on the surface, I admit, but, uh...you know, once you—you look at the facts..." he stammers. "William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head. No gun, no gunpowder, no bullet." Sam said as Rick looks at us, worried.

"Nope. Nothing strange about that." I said, shrugging, with sarcasm. "Well there's gotta be a reasonable explanation. There always is." Rick said. "Well what's your reasonable explanation?" Dean asked him. Rick looks around cautiously for a moment and whispers. "Professional killer."

"Come again?" Sam asked. "Well, CIA, NSA, one o' them trained assassins, like in Michael Clayton." Rick said and the boys and I gape at him. "Right." Dean said then he looks over at me and Sam. "You're welcome to look around, but—but these guys don't leave fingerprints." Rick tells us.

"Mind if we talk with the witness?" Sam asked him. "Be my guest. She's not making any sense! And she's not making any sense in Spanish either." Rick said and I nod, slowly. "Right." I said.

We walk out and see Consuela sitting on a wooden bench, wrapped in a blanket, talking to an officer and sobbing. "No puedo vivir aquí. Necesito mi familia. Me voy ahora. Me voy a la casa. No—me voy a la casa en El Salvador ahora." she cries to the officer as we walk up to her.

"Consuela Alvarez?" Dean asked. "Yes?" she asked as she raises her head to us. "FBI." Dean said as we show her our badges then the officers leave. "Now, uh, you said you saw something in the professor's house. Right? Something in the window?" Dean asked her.

"Estaba sacando la basura. Imiré por la ventana y vi al hombre que mató al Señor Hill!" She explains and Sam kneels in front of her. "Uh, Señora Alvarez. Cálmese, por favor. Uh—" Sam said the he looks at us, thinking. "Uh, díganos lo que vio?" He asked and Dean and I grin. "Nice." said Dean. "Freshman Spanish." Sam said, shrugging, then he turns back to Consuela.

"Era alto. Muy alto. Y llevaba el abrigo negro largo y tenía bigotes." She said and Sam glances between me, Dean and Consuela as he translates. "Okay, uh, a tall man, very tall. With a long black coat and a—" he said then he gestures at his chin. "A beard?" he asked and Consuela nods. "Beard." he said.

"Y un sombrero." Consuela adds. "Dude was wearing a sombrero?" Dean asked. "Uh, a hat, not a—a—" Sam said as he gestures near his head. "No, no, no, un sombrero alto." she said. "A tall hat?" Sam asked. "Oh, like a top hat." I said and Consuela nods. "Un sombrero alto." She said and she gestures above her head. "Muy alto!" she said.

"What, you mean like a—like a stovepipe hat." Dean said as he imitates her gesture. "Sí." she said. "Oh yeah, like Abraham Lincoln." I said and Sam shrugs while Consuela starts sobbing again. "Sí. El Presidente Lincoln." she said and the boys and I trade confused looks.

"Abraham Lincoln kill Mister Hill!" she cries and Dean hums. "S-so I go home now?" she asked us. "Uh, sí. Gracias." Sam said. "Gracias." Dean and I said and Sam turns and frowns at us as Consuela walks away.

The three of us sit at the table of our motel room, Sam on his laptop and Dean on a new laptop while I was flipping through John's journal. "Whoa." Dean said and Sam and I turn to him. "What?" we asked as Dean does something on his laptop then he picks it up and turns it around for me and Sam to see. "It's a freeze-frame from Jim Grossman's video." he said and Sam and I look at it and we see a chrome car wheel were a figure of a person in a red jacket was reflected off of it

"Am I crazy, or does that look like James Dean?" Dean asked. "Well, you're crazy, regardless, but yeah that looks like James Dean." I said and Dean glares at me and I give him a smile. "I love you." I said and he shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah..." he grumbles as he sets the laptop back in front of himself.

"So we got Abraham Lincoln, and James Dean?" Dean asked and Sam frowns. "Famous ghosts?" Dean asked. "Maybe." Sam said. "Well that's just silly." I said. "No, actually, uh, there is a ton of lore on famous ghosts. More than the, you know, not-famous kinds. I'm actually surprised we haven't run into one before." Sam said.

"Yeah, but now we got two of 'em? Two extremely pissed-off ghosts?" I said. "Who are apparently ganking their fans." Sam said. "What do you mean?" Dean asked as Sam reads off the webpage on his laptop  "Professor Hill was a Civil War nut. He dug Lincoln." Sam said. "And Cal must've been a James Dean freak. He spent seventeen years of his life tracking down the guy's car." Dean said and Sam raises his eyebrows, knowingly.

"So you're saying we've got two super-famous, super-pissed-off ghosts killing their...super-fans?" I asked and Sam shrugs. "That's what it looks like." Sam said. "Well, that is muchos loco." Dean grumbles and Sam grins. "Muy." Sam said and Dean and I look up. "Not muchos." Sam corrects Dean.

"Yeah, well, the big question is, what the hell are they doing here?" I asked. "Yeah. Ghosts usually haunt the places they live. I mean, I, I get Abraham Lincoln at the White House—" Sam said. "And James Dean at a race track, but...what the hell are they doing in Canton?" Dean asked and I shrug.

Later, Sam was working on his laptop while I brought a couple cans of soda for me and Dean and we were drinking from it when Sam stops typing and frowns. "You gotta be kidding me." Sam said. "What?" Dean and I asked and we walk over and read the screen. "Oh God." I muttered. "You gotta be kidding me." Dean said.

Sometime later, Dean, Sam and I walk through the wax museum, checking out the figures. Sam and I walk past John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon, then I stop at Abraham Lincoln. Dean frowns at Gandhi. "Dude, he's short." Dean said as he gestures at Gandhi.

"Hey. Gandhi was a great man." Sam said. "Yeah, for a Smurf." Dean snarks just as the owner comes down the stairs at a half-jog, slightly out of breath. He is wearing a leather jacket.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, this is our busiest time of the year." he said and Dean looks around at the empty rooms. "This is busy?" he asked. "Well, not right now, but it's early." the owner said. "It's four-thirty." Dean points out and the owner ignores him.

"So, what can I do for you?" he asked. "Uh, well, we are writing a piece for Travel Magazine." Sam said. "Yeah, on how, uh, totally non-sucky wax museums are." Dean adds and I roll my eyes. "That's fantastic. A little press, just what we need." the owner said. "Great. Well we're interested in a few of your exhibits, specifically Abraham Lincoln and, uh, James Dean." I said. "Two of our most popular displays." the owner said.

"Oh yeah? So they bring in a lot of visitors?" Sam asked. "Yeah, we have our regulars." the owner replied. "I don't suppose that, uh, William Hill and Cal Hawkins were regulars, were they?" Dean. Asked and the owner nods. "As a matter of fact, they were. Yeah, I heard what happened to them. It's tragic, just tragic. Oh—you—that's not gonna be in the article, is it?" he asked us.

"No. No, no. 'Course not." Sam assures the owner. "You know, I gotta tell you, that—that Lincoln is so lifelike, I mean, you—I mean, you can just imagine him moving around. You ever see anything like that?" Dean asked and the owner frowns. "Uh...no." he said. "No?" Dean asked.

"Well, um, is there anything you could think of that would make your museum...unusual? You know, for the article?" I asked him. "Well, I'll say. There isn't another place like us, not anywhere." the owner replied. "How so?" Dean asked.

"Well, for one, that's Honest Abe's real hat." the owner said as he points to Lincoln. "It is?" I asked. "Almost like his remains." Dean mutters and looks pointedly at me and Sam. The owner frowns. "Uh...I guess?" he said and Dean grins.

"You wouldn't happen to have any of James Dean's personal effects, would you?" I asked the owner. "Ooh, yeah. Got his keychain. We got a bunch of stuff, uh, Gandhi's bifocals, FDR's iron lung. This." he said and he indicates the leather jacket he's wearing. 

"And who did that belong to?" Sam asked him. "The Fonz. Seasons two through four!" he said and he does a double thumbs-up, grinning. "That is pretty cool. You're lucky an old friend of mine isn't here with us. She'd be trying to buy that jacket off of you. Hugh Fonzie fan, she is." I said and the owner smiles.

"This? This is nothing. I've been working on a new collection of figures. Stuff that'll really wow the kids." He said. "The kids?" Dean asked. "Yeah, Gen Y." the owner said and Dean nods. "Computer games, cell phones, sexting." The owner said and I raise my eyebrows.

"They're just fads. I'm gonna make wax museums hip again." He said and he grins and gives his double thumbs-up again. Dean chuckles and Sam and I return the thumbs-up.

Sam opens the trunk of the Impala, and we take out a couple of shotguns and load them with shells of rock salt, then put the loaded shotgun back in and Sam closes the lid. We go back into our room and see Dean talking on his cell phone, facing away from the door.

"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." Dean said and I sigh as Sam frowns then pushes the door shut, causing Dean to spin around.

"I'll call you later. Bye." he said into the phone and hangs up and turns to us. "What's going on?" I asked him, folding my arms. "Did you two get the trunk packed up?" he asked. "Yeah, trunk's packed. Who was on the phone?" Sam asked.  "Bobby." Dean said. "And?" I asked and Dean shakes his head.

"Nothing." Dean said and I roll my eyes and glare at him. "So we're just gonna pretend I didn't hear what I just heard?" Sam asked and Dean shrugs. "Pretend or don't pretend. Whatever floats your boat." Dean said. "This was supposed to be a fresh start, Dean." Sam said as Dean picks up his jacket.

"Well, this is about as fresh as it gets. Now are we going or not?" Dean said and I look over at Dean as he walks pass me. "Dean..." I said, warningly. He stares at me then goes to the door, opens it and leaves. Sam and I watch him go and Sam sighs.

"I'm sorry, Sam." I said. "No, it's fine..." he mutters and I place a hand on his shoulder. "All I can say is...just give him time...I know it sucks but...that's all I can say..." I said and I go to the door and open it, Sam follows close behind me as we leave.

We walk through the museum, past Gandhi. Dean approaches Lincoln and takes off his hat as Sam fetches a metal trash can and I look around the room. I turn around to find Dean wearing Lincoln's hat. "Check it out." he said then he lowers his voice, imitating Lincoln. "Four score and seven years ago, I had a funny hat." he said

"Dean." Sam said, exasperated, as he turns to him and I shake my head. Sam sighs and puts the trash can down, holding his hand out for the hat. "We can't have any fun with this?" Dean asked and he takes the hat off and tosses it into the trash can.

"Let's just torch the objects, torch the ghosts, get outta here. Okay?" I said and Dean nods. "I'll go grab East of Eden's keychain." he said and he walks into the next room. Sam and I scan the room. I look at Lincoln, then narrow my eyes and lean in closer. Then the double doors Dean went through slam shut, making me and Sam spin around.

"Dean?" Sam and I call out as we go over to the doors, shotgun in hand. "Dean?" we call out again as we try the door handles but the doors won't budge. Then I notice our breathes condensing in front of us and we spin around, shotgun held at the ready.
Sam and I look from Lincoln to Gandhi and back again as we creep forward slowly. Sam and I hear a creak to our left and we turn. The shotguns flies out of our hands. Defenseless, we stand still for a second then I see Gandhi leaping onto Sam's back.

"Sam!" I shouted as Gandhi wraps his arms around Sam's neck but Sam slams him into the wall and Gandhi falls off. "Go grab his glasses!" Sam shouts to me as Gandhi gets up and they circle around each other while I run to Gandhi's wax figure. 

I grab the glasses as Gandhi starts to strangle Sam and I run to the trash bin. At that moment, Dean bursts through the double doors. "Dean!" Sam said as I throw the glasses into the trash bin with the other items. "Is that Gandhi?" Dean asked. "Yeah!" Sam said. "Dude, he's squirrelly." Dean said as I squirt lighter fluid on them and finally light them on fire with a match. Gandhi disappears, and Sam gasps for air.

I run over to Sam and kneel down next to him, to check him over. "You okay?" I asked and he nods. "You couldn't have been a fan of someone cool?" Dean asked and Sam and I stare at him. "Really? Gandhi?" Dean asked and I shake my head.