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Chapter Text

Dean

"I don't know, Sam, I don't think this is our kind of thing." Dean glanced at Sam with an annoyed look on his face as the Impala rumbled down the highway. "Besides, we just finished up with that craptastic Supernatural musical last week. We haven't even been back to the bunker yet."

Sam sighed. "I seem to remember you insisting we take that case, even though there was nothing to suggest it was one. Besides, this one is a slam dunk. You heard it on the police radio just five minutes ago. And it's only fifteen minutes away. We'll check it out, see if there's really a case, and if not we'll be on our way."

Dean grumbled. After ganking Calliope, they had traveled to Monterey, California to visit a hunter friend. As they passed through Santa Barbara on their way back to the Men of Letters bunker, the case came over the radio. Dean just wanted to get back to his bed in the bunker and relax for a day before finding another case.

But he also knew that if he showed any hesitation, Sam would think something was up. He'd think it was the Mark of Cain, or that Dean wasn't fully recovered from his stint as a demon, but he was. He didn't want Sam benching him. He didn't need to be benched. He needed things to go back to normal.

If that meant taking a case even when Dean just wanted to keep driving, so be it.

"Fine." Dean relented. "Talk to me."

"Two witnesses." Sam opened his notebook where he'd written everything down as it came over the radio. "They were at the restaurant late. Tarpy's Roadhouse. Apparently they're detectives, and they had helped out the manager, so he stayed open late for them. There was only one chef in the back, and all the waiters had left. They sat down, the manager went into the kitchen. Then, according to the witnesses, the lights started flickering and the room got cold. Like, ghost-cold."

"Okay, ghost. That seems pretty obvious." Dean nodded, but then something Sam had said gave him pause. "Wait, 'according to the witnesses?' They survived?"

Sam nodded, grinning. "I don't know how yet, but everyone that was there is still alive. The restaurant's torn up a bit, and the two witnesses are banged up, but no fatalities."

Dean started to speak, but Sam stopped him, opening his computer. "That's not even the weirdest part. Remember how I said they're detectives? So get this. According to their website, they're psychic detectives. They own a private investigative service called 'Psych.'"

Dean raised his eyebrows. Psychics? Like Missouri and Pamela? "Are you saying these guys are hunters? That's why they're alive?" Dean wondered.

Sam shrugged. "I don't see how else they could have survived. They must have found some salt or iron to protect themselves. I mean, they're psychics. They've got to know about all the things that go bump in the night."

Dean nodded. "All right. I'm officially interested. Let's go pay a visit to these guys. They're still at Tarpy's?"

"Yeah."

Dean revved the engine, shaking his head and chuckling. It seemed this would be an interesting case after all.

~

"So," Sam said after a few more minutes of silence. "Are we going to talk about it?"

Dean looked at Sam in the corner of his eye, furrowing his brow. "Talk about what?"

"That Supernatural musical." Sam clarified.

Dean scoffed, "I don't ever want to talk about that again." He affirmed, but his gaze fixed on the rear-view mirror where he'd hung the fake "Samulet" Marie had given him.

"Okay, neither do I, really, but there is one thing we need to talk about." Sam insisted.

"What?" Dean demanded. "It was a load of crap thought up by a couple teenagers."

"Dean." Sam said. Dean looked at him. "I'm talking about Adam."

Dean's annoyance was instantly replaced with guilt. "Oh. That."

"Yeah, that." Sam turned to look at Dean better, with a sharp edge to his voice. "He's still in the cage. He's been in there for years. He doesn't deserve that. He was never part of this fight. He was our responsibility."

"I seem to recall it didn't end well when we got back your soul from Lucifer's cage after only one year. Adam's been down there for almost five years. It ain't gonna be pretty. And Cas won't go through that again." Dean reminded Sam.

"I know that," Sam said. "That doesn't mean that Adam deserves to be tortured for eternity. We should at least try to end his suffering."

"Fine," Dean agreed. "But how? We can't ask Cas to go back to the cage. Especially not with his borrowed grace."

"I don't know," Sam sighed. "I'll look around when we get back to the bunker."

"Whatever," Dean said, absently scratching the Mark of Cain on his arm.

Sam noticed. "Is it bothering you?" He asked quietly.

Dean sighed, "I'm not going demon again, if that's what you're asking."

"I know that, but still. It wasn't easy for you before you died. You had trouble controlling the Mark of Cain."

"I'm fine, Sammy." Dean growled.

"Dean—"

"I said I'm fine, Sam." Dean insisted. "Drop it. We're here. Who are these psychics again?"

Sam took a deep breath like he wanted to say more, but he didn't. Dean was relieved. Sam glanced at his notebook. "Shawn Spencer and . . . Bruton Gaster?"

Dean laughed. "I like the sound of these guys already."

Chapter Text

Shawn

"Jules, I told you I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, Mama Bear, but I'm okay. Go help Lassie, you know he'll be lost without you." Shawn shooed away his girlfriend.

Juliet looked at Shawn carefully. She wore her usual gray pantsuit, but her hair and makeup were slightly off. She had clearly rushed to the crime scene after hearing that he and Gus were involved.

The police had already cordoned off the restaurant, and flashing red and blue lights lit up the night sky. Dark, empty hills surrounded the restaurant, as it was located just off the highway. Shawn sat at the back of the ambulance outside of Tarpy's Roadhouse, holding an ice pack to his head. The paramedics had already bandaged his bleeding arms and given him a blanket and painkillers, but his head was still hurting. They said he might have a mild concussion.

Gus sat on the floor of the ambulance next to Shawn, curled up in the fetal position with his blanket wrapped around him. He was rocking back and forth, whispering nonsense to himself. Gus had a sling for his arm, and Shawn was sure he was going to have a bruise on his shoulder where Gus had punched him when the paramedics popped his dislocated arm back into place. Juliet glanced at Gus sympathetically.

"Jules," Shawn said, holding her hand. "We'll be okay."

Juliet sighed, studying him carefully. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" Shawn insisted. "Do your job, you adorable police detective."

"Fine," Juliet agreed. She pulled out her notebook and pen. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Shawn squinted up at her, confused. "What are you doing?"

Juliet frowned. "Interviewing witnesses. That's my job. Which you told me to do."

"Jules, Gus is having a bit of a mental breakdown, as you can see." Shawn explained. "Only I can help him. If you don't mind, we need a few minutes together before he'll be ready to talk. Can you do the other parts of your job first?"

"Right, of course." Juliet scolded herself. "Hang in there, Gus," she said.

Juliet kissed Shawn on the cheek and squeezed his hand before walking away to join Lassiter as he interrogated the restaurant manager, Dave.

Before Shawn could talk to Gus, his phone rang. He sighed and answered. "Dad."

"Shawn! Thank goodness. Are you all right? I was worried. Juliet called and said you and Gus had been victims of an attack, but she didn't say anything else. Do I need to come down there? Are you at the hospital? Should I call your mother?" Shawn's dad said over the phone.

"I'm fine, Dad. Banged up a bit, but fine." Shawn said, annoyed.

"Are you sure? I can be there in ten minutes, I—"

"Dad. We're fine. We'll see you at game night tomorrow. Go back to hibernation."

"Shawn, I—"

"Bye, Dad." Shawn said, ending the call.

He shook his head and put away his phone. Then he remembered what had just happened, and what he needed to talk to Gus about.

"Gus!" Shawn shouted, turning to face his partner. "You saw it too, right? Tell me you saw it!"

Gus made no response, still holding himself and muttering quietly.

"Gus?" Shawn said. "Gus, come on. We're safe now. I'll make you nachos when we get back to the office."

That got a response. Gus instantly relaxed, sitting up and looking at Shawn. "You better not be joking, Shawn. I will hold you to that."

"I know you will, buddy." Shawn acknowledged. "Now, let's talk before Jules and Lassie come back."

Gus froze, his eyes tearing up. "I don't want to talk!"

"Gus, buddy. We've got this." Shawn reassured him. "There's no way that was a real, live, dead ghost. We've been through this before. It's never a real ghost. Just like it's never a real mummy."

Gus shrieked. "Why would you bring that up after we were just attacked by a ghost?"

"That's why I brought it up! Was it a real mummy, Gus?" Shawn asked.

Gus sniffled, tugging his blanket closer. He slowly shook his head.

Shawn nodded. "I want you to say it, Gus. Say it wasn't a real mummy."

Softly, Gus croaked, "It wasn't a real mummy."

"Exactly." Shawn smiled. "So this wasn't a real ghost."

"Right, it wasn't a ghost. Of course not." Gus said, assuring himself. "I mean, that doesn't explain why it vanished when you poured the salt on it, but it wasn't a ghost. Or why the iron barstools made it disappear, but it wasn't a ghost. It . . ."

Gus's voice droned on, but Shawn wasn't paying attention anymore. A new vehicle had pulled up next to Lassie's car. A very familiar looking black 1967 Chevy Impala.

"Gus." Shawn said as he put down his ice pack, but Gus was still busy rationalizing the event to himself.

The driver-side door and the passenger-side door of the Impala both opened. Two men stepped out, wearing dark suits. One was taller than the other, definitely over six feet, with long hair. He was lanky and big compared to Lassiter, who watched the two men curiously when they flashed FBI badges at him. The other man was a bit shorter, but still tall. He had short hair, cropped close to his head. He looked perpetually angry.

"Gus!" Shawn said again, smacking his arm.

Gus winced, about to say something about his arm when he followed Shawn's gaze. The two of them gasped. Shawn would have recognized them from a mile away.

A million thoughts raced through Shawn's head. Could it be? If they were real, did that mean that everything else was real too? How were they here? Shawn had always thought they were a work of fiction, but here they were, standing twenty feet away from him.

The two men talked to Lassiter and Juliet for a moment before starting to interview the manager. Lassiter and Juliet began walking towards Shawn and Gus.

"Shawn," Gus's voice was small. "If they're here, which I'm still not sure I believe they really are, then does that mean—"

"It was a ghost!" Shawn shouted, just as Lassiter and Juliet reached them. "It was an actual ghost. We saw a ghost. A ghost attacked us!" Gus nodded frantically beside Shawn.

Lassiter stopped his tracks. "Okay. I am definitely not in the mood for this today. Partner, can you deal with these two nimwits?"

"Aw, come on Lassie, you know you love us." Shawn cooed.

Juliet sighed, "Yes, Carlton. I'll meet you inside in a moment."

"Good." Lassiter glared at Shawn and Gus. He mumbled to himself as he turned around and went inside the restaurant.

"Shawn, come on. You can't seriously think it was a ghost." Juliet said. Shawn was about to speak when she continued, "I don't want to hear it right now. I need to go help Carlton inspect the crime scene. We'll talk to you afterwards. There are two FBI agents here, and they want to talk to you too. Apparently this case is similar to one they've been following. Try not to scare them off. Stop with the ghost talk."

Juliet didn't give Shawn a chance to respond before she shook her head and stalked off after Lassiter.

The two FBI agents walked up to Shawn and Gus at the back of the ambulance. "Gentlemen," the taller one said. "So sorry to bother you so soon after the incident, do you mind if we ask you a few questions?"

Shawn looked up at them, star struck. "Go ahead, yeah. I'm Shawn Spencer, psychic detective. This is my associate—"

"Burton Guster," Gus interrupted before Shawn could introduce him. "You are not telling them my name is Doughnut Holschtein."

The shorter man laughed.

"Gus, I would never." Shawn held a hand to his chest, insulted. "Do you really think so little of me that I would reuse a name?" He looked at the two men. "My apologies, agents, this is my associate Sheev Palpatine."

Gus clucked his tongue and smacked Shawn. The two men shared a look and then turned to Shawn and Gus.

"Well, Mr. Spencer and Mr. Guster," the shorter agent said. He held out his FBI badge. "I'm Agent Barnes and this is my partner Agent Rogers. Could you—"

"No you're not," Shawn giggled.

"Excuse me?" The tall one said, adjusting his stance. The short one's hand crept to his back.

"You're not Agent Rogers and Agent Barnes." Shawn said. "You're Sam and Dean Winchester."

Sam and Dean looked at each other, trying to figure out what to do with Shawn and Gus. Shawn simply smiled at them, looking as innocent as possible.

Finally Dean spoke. "Uh, who?"

"Oh, don't bother trying to deny it. We know exactly who you two are. You're Sam, and you're Dean," Shawn said, pointing to each of them. "Those badges are fake. You both have guns tucked into your waistbands. You have flasks of holy water in your pockets. Your trunk is full of monster-killing weapons."

Shawn's finger flew to his head as he noticed other things about their appearances. He gasped and flailed about in his usual over-the-top fashion. "You were just visiting a friend. You didn't plan on coming to Santa Barbara, but then you heard about the ghost." Shawn could tell from their wrinkled clothes. "And you two just had an argument." They stood farther apart than most brothers would, and kept looking at each other with annoyance.

Sam and Dean both shifted their weight from foot to foot, looking rattled. Shawn grinned, "I told you I'm a psychic."

Dean pointed at Shawn's head. "What the hell is that? What's up with the finger thing?"

"It helps me control my powers." Shawn insisted.

Sam laughed. "Yeah, right. You're not psychic. We've met plenty. You're just another idiot who read the books."

Shawn shrugged. "It was worth a shot, I didn't think you two would be convinced."

"Wait, books?" Gus asked. "What books? We saw the show."

"Yeah, Supernatural. It airs on the CW every Thursday." Shawn said. "That's how we know who you are."

Sam and Dean look at each other again. Dean glared at Shawn. "What show?"

Chapter Text

Sam

"'We got work to do,'" the on-screen Sam said as he tossed a shotgun into the trunk of the Impala and slammed it shut.

The screen turned black and then the credits started rolling. Shawn and Gus faced Sam and Dean, waiting to see their reactions.

Sam leaned back in his chair, dumbfounded. After the "psychic detectives" talked to the police, they took Sam and Dean back to their office. It was a pretty nice space for fake psychics whom Sam didn't think got much business. There were lots of toys and action figures on shelves around the room, as well as a few case files, and their kitchen was fully stocked. Gus was eating a plate of nachos Shawn had made for him as soon they had arrived.

After that, they showed Sam and Dean the pilot episode of a show called "Supernatural." It was a spot-on record of their lives.

The actors who played Sam and Dean looked exactly like Sam and Dean. Everything in the show happened exactly as Sam remembered it happening ten years ago. Dean showing up to tell him Dad was missing, the hunt, Jessica's death, and making the decision to continue searching for Dad. Somehow, there was a TV show of their lives.

"When was the last time we heard from Chuck?" Dean asked Sam after the episode finished, rubbing his chin.

Sam took a deep breath. "A while ago. Right before I jumped into the cage, I think. You said he's how you found me. Remember when Crowley kidnapped all the future prophets? Cas said that only one prophet could exist at a time, and since Kevin was a prophet then, Chuck must have been long dead."

Sam got up and grabbed Gus's laptop from his desk. He looked like he wanted to protest, but one look from Sam shut him up and he went back to his nachos. Sam opened a search browser and started typing.

"So, that alternate reality we entered, where I was Jensen Ackles and you were Jared Pada-something, that was real?" Dean asked Sam.

Sam shrugged. "I guess so. Remember Misha Collins? He plays Cas. I guess it's not completely the same as that reality, though, because he's still alive."

"French Mistake." Shawn and Gus said at the same time, pointing to each other.

Sam and Dean looked at them. Shawn elaborated. "In the episode 'French Mistake' in Season 6, the angel Balthazar sent Sam and Dean into an alternate reality where they were Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, two actors that played Sam and Dean on TV." Shawn looked at Gus. "And it actually happened. And the show actually exists. How many fourth wall breaks is that?" Shawn wondered rhetorically.

Dean ignored Shawn's rambling. "How long has this show been going on?" He demanded, his voice hard.

"Years," Shawn answered, laughing. "It's on its tenth season. In the last episode, you two fought the Muse Calliope after she tried to kill people who wanted to stop the Supernatural musical those girls put on."

"How long ago did that happen to you two?" Gus asked, still looking a little miffed at Sam for using his computer.

Sam looked up at Dean. "About a week ago." He turned the computer around, showing Dean the page he'd found. "Get this. The names of two of the producers of the show are Jeremy Carver and Ben Edlund. Carver Edlund. Chuck."

"Great, Chuck somehow still made money off of our misery." Dean grumbled. "But he's dead. How is this show still going, with no prophet telling them what's happening to us?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know."

"I still think Lassie played Cain and didn't tell us." Shawn said.

"That detective? Carlton Lassiter?" Dean asked, and Shawn nodded. Sam remembered thinking he'd seen him before.

"I thought he looked familiar. I don't even want to know." Dean continued.

"So it really is you guys." Shawn interrupted, drawing their attention back to him. "Supernatural is real. Sam and Dean Winchester are real. Man, I love you guys!"

"Uh, Shawn," Gus said. "That means that all the things they fight are real too."

Shawn's smile dropped. "Oh. Not so cool."

"Look, we'll figure out this stupid show later, Dean." Sam said. He closed the laptop and stood in front of Shawn and Gus. "We've still got a case to take care of."

"Fine," Dean agreed. "And then I need a drink."

"So, what happened to you two?" Sam asked them. Clearly, neither Shawn nor Gus were real psychics. But somehow they'd fought off a ghost. Sam had never heard of someone other than a hunter surviving a ghost attack, and they clearly weren't hunters either. "You know it was a ghost that attacked you. How did you survive?"

"First off, we'd appreciate it if you didn't tell the police about the . . . psychic thing." Shawn said.

"You mean your high observation and deductions skills?" Sam said. "Yeah, we noticed. You're no psychic."

"I've heard it both ways," Shawn said, pointing at Sam.

"Whatever. We'll keep quiet. Just tell us what happened." Dean said.

"Well, after we sat down at a table at Tarpy's, Dave the manager went into the kitchen to get us some bread." Gus began explaining. "A minute later, the room got all cold and the lights started flickering. We thought Dave was messing with us."

"Then this weird person appeared." Shawn continued. "They didn't come close enough for us to tell if they were a man or a woman. They just walked toward us, all creepy-like, dressed in really old clothes."

"We tried to get out but the doors were locked," Gus said. "Then the thing raced forward and hit Shawn in the chest and he went flying through the window. At this point we were both thinking it might be a ghost, like on Supernatural. That meant we needed iron and salt. So I grabbed an iron barstool and threw it at the thing and it disappeared. Then it showed up again right behind me and tossed me into the bar."

"That's when I came back and threw a bunch of salt at it. Finally Dave showed up and helped us get outside and call the police. The ghost didn't show up again." Shawn finished.

Sam and Dean looked at each other. Sam ran a hand through his hair. It definitely sounded like a ghost, but why did it let them be once they got outside? Maybe the spirit was tethered to the building somehow.

"Definitely a ghost, then." Dean said. "Sam?"

"Way ahead of you," Sam said as he grabbed the computer again and began researching Tarpy's Roadhouse. "Here we go. It says the name of the restaurant came from a guy named Matt Tarpy in the 1800s. He lived in Ireland, but then left because of the famine in the 1840s to try for gold in California. And . . . huh. There's a cut and dry ghost story right here. He was kind of a vigilante, known for tracking criminals and bringing them to justice. This also got him into trouble, it looks like. In 1868 he sold some of his property here in Santa Barbara to Murdock and Sarah Nicholson, and the boundaries were never clearly defined. In 1873, he confronted Sarah Nicholson and this guy John O'Neil over a cabin on the property. It says O'Neil drew his gun, so Tarpy fired in self-defense, but killed Nicholson because she stepped in front of O'Neil."

"So, Nicholson's the ghost." Dean concluded.

"Maybe not." Sam said, squinting at the computer. "Tarpy turned himself in and was put in jail, but news of the shooting traveled fast. An angry mob broke him out of jail and brought him outside of a town and hanged him from a tall pine tree. The area is now known as Tarpy Flats."

"So the ghost is Tarpy?" Gus said.

"I guess so. The restaurant is named after him. Where's he buried?" Dean asked Sam, taking out his gun and cleaning it.

Sam's shoulders dropped. "Nowhere. He was cremated after he was hanged."

Dean sighed. "Of course he was. What next?"

"Wait!" Sam said, pointing to something on the computer screen.

"What?" Shawn asked, stepping closer. "Did you find the search history? It's Gus's."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Tarpy's gun holster. It's on display at the restaurant. And according to another legend, he bled on it once while chasing a thief."

"Then let's get to the restaurant." Dean said, cocking his gun and grabbing his coat. Neither of them had had time to change out of their FBI suits.

Shawn and Gus started following Sam and Dean out the door. Dean turned and held out his hand. "Don't even think about it. You two—stay here." Dean commanded them. "We don't know you, we don't trust you, we don't need you. Just because you've watched us on TV," Dean shivered, "Doesn't mean you're a hunter. Stay back, and no one will get hurt. Capiche?"

"Come on, son." Shawn said.

"Stay," Sam ordered. "Or we'll make you stay."

Shawn and Gus shared a look, and then began talking at the same time. "On second thought—" "You know we might be safer—" "Probably a good idea to stay."

They sat down on the couch and Gus went back to his nachos.

"Good." Dean said. "We'll call you after we gank this son of a bitch."

~

"This it?" Dean asked, shining his flashlight at a gun holster mounted on the wall of Tarpy's Roadhouse.

The police had cleared out for the night, but there was still caution tape outside and evidence markers around the room. The wall next to the entrance was lined with tables and windows, although some of them were damaged from the earlier fight. Opposite that wall was the bar, with a few broken bottles surrounding it. A door at the back led to the kitchen, and another one opened to an outdoor patio.

Sam joined Dean by the wall and shined his light at the holster too. "Looks like. The plaque says it's Tarpy's. And you can see drops of blood," Sam said, pointing at it.

"Gotcha, you jackass." Dean laughed as he grabbed the holster. Sam dragged over a trash can and Dean tossed the holster into it.

Sam stuck a match and dropped it in the can. The holster caught fire immediately. No shrieks accompanied it, and the temperature didn't drop one bit. It almost seemed . . . easy.

"Did that feel a little easy to you?" Dean asked, looking around.

Their faces were lit only by the fire. Sam spun around, looking for a ghost that wasn't there.

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Where's the angry, screaming ghost?"

"Aw, man, we missed it!" A voice pouted.

Sam and Dean spun around, pointing their shotguns at the intruder. Two of them, actually. They walked closer, and Sam groaned when he saw that it was just Shawn and Gus.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Sam shouted. "We told you to stay away! So you wouldn't get hurt!"

"You're Sam and Dean, we won't get hurt. Plus, we wanted to see you kill an actual ghost. But I guess we missed it."

"I am fine with that. I didn't need to come," Gus admitted. "I—"

Gus was cut short as a woman walked into the dim light between the four of them. She was very pale, with long hair and white clothes. Something dark stained the front of her dress.

"Where did you come from?" Dean growled.

Sam's fingers tensed around his gun.

Gus straightened. "Hey girl. Heard about Pluto? That's—"

All of a sudden, Gus flew across the room, crashing into the wall. Sam, Dean, and Shawn all jumped back. Dean fired his shotgun at the woman and she vanished.

"I don't think Tarpy was the ghost! It's Sarah Nicholson!" Sam shouted, spinning with his shotgun in front of him.

"Shawn, get your friend and get out of here! We'll hold her off and then follow you." Dean ordered the fake psychic.

Nicholson materialized behind Shawn. Dean tackled him and Sam shot her with a shell of rocksalt. Then without warning, Sam was thrown backwards and hit the wall of bottles behind the bar, glass and liquid raining down on him.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, racing towards him.

Sam's eyesight was fuzzy and his ears were ringing. He shook his head and tried to stand, leaning on the bar's counter. He looked up just in time to see something he really wished he had imagined.

Shawn was helping Gus to his feet and Dean was trying to reach Sam while watching for Nicholson. She appeared behind him. Before Sam could warn him, Nicholson jumped forward and into Dean's body.

Dean stumbled, and then stood tall. Ectoplasm leaked out of his eye. Sam tried to climb over the counter, but Dean stalked forward and pushed him so hard that Sam slammed against the wall again. Shawn and Gus screamed in the corner. Sam got to his feet just in time to see Dean walk out of the door.

Gus leaned on Shawn and the two of them gaped at the door as Sam brushed glass off of his shoulders and grabbed his gun. Shawn gulped. "Did she just—"

"Possess Dean?" Sam huffed, growing very angry. "Yeah. She did."

Chapter Text

Gus

"You two live in Santa Barbara, think. Have you ever heard of that story about Sarah Nicholson and Matt Tarpy before?" Sam demanded.

Sam ran outside and Shawn and Gus followed. Dean was nowhere in sight, although that wasn't surprising since it was pitch black outside. Gus leaned heavily on Shawn, partially from the pain of being thrown across the room again and partially from fear. For the second time, he and Shawn had been attacked by an actual ghost. And this time, even with expert hunters like Sam and Dean, Dean had been possessed and taken by a ghost. Gus was way past ready to go home.

"Yeah, I think so." Shawn said. "Um, just a little different. I heard that Tarpy shot Nicholson in cold blood, nine times. And then he turned himself in and the mob killed him, like you said."

"Nicholson's definitely got motive, then." Sam growled. He ran a hand through his hair and stomped back into the restaurant. He grabbed Dean's fallen gun and their flashlights. "But why would she let the two of you go after you left the building? Why take Dean? Where is she buried?"

Shawn started to answer, but Sam spoke again. "Nevermind, I don't care why or how right now. We need to find her bones and burn her fast, before she can hurt Dean. I have a feeling that's the first thing on her agenda."

"I think I heard something about her being buried behind the restaurant," Shawn said.

Sam said nothing as he ran outside. Shawn and Gus raced after him, Gus still too much in shock to say anything. By the time they reached the back, Sam had already found a shovel and was digging in front of a tombstone that simply read "Sarah Nicholson."

Shawn and Gus found two more shovels and helped. With their combined determination, they hit her coffin after fifteen minutes.

"Salt," Sam growled at Shawn and Gus as he worked on prying open the coffin.

Gus stayed with Sam while Shawn ran inside to get salt. Gus finally managed to find his voice, and said shakily, "Is Dean gonna be okay?"

Gus wasn't cut out for this. He just wanted to go home, eat some popcorn, sleep, and wake up to find that this whole ghost thing was a dream, or that it was another one of Shawn's awful pranks. He had tap class tomorrow!

"If we can stop this ghost soon, yeah, he'll be fine." Sam assured him. "Now pull yourself together and help me."

Gus jumped down into the grave and helped Sam pull up the top of the coffin. He shrieked when it popped open and revealed a tattered skeleton. He nearly tripped over himself in his hurry to climb out of the grave. Sam rolled his eyes as he followed Gus, and Gus stood off to the side, dry heaving.

Shawn returned with the salt. Sam took it and dumped it over Nicholson's skeleton, and then sprayed it with lighter fluid. He struck a match and dropped it into the grave. Flames quickly warmed up the night air.

"Now what?" Shawn asked.

Sam took out his phone, dialing a number. "We hope that Dean picks up, and if he doesn't, we hope that he shows up in the next five minutes."

Sam held the phone up to his ear, pacing. Shawn and Gus watched him, waiting. Gus refused to look at the flaming grave. After fifteen seconds, Sam shut off his phone and cursed. "Dammit."

Sam stomped back to the front of the restaurant, followed by Shawn and Gus. "We wait a few more minutes, and then we go looking." Sam instructed. He walked inside and found a light switch, shedding more light on the destruction the ghost had caused.

Many more chairs and tables were overturned than before, and a lot of them were broken. Glass from the windows covered the ground. Bottles were smashed, and various liquids dripped from the bar counter. There was plenty of splintered wood, and lightbulbs swung precariously from the ceiling. There were a few drops of blood from where Sam, Shawn, and Gus had been cut by glass.

"Why would she take Dean? And why didn't she show up when we burned her bones?" Gus wondered.

Sam groaned. "Her spirit must be tied to something else. But what? How could she leave the building? And if she's been here this whole time, why did she only attack you two today?"

"Well, think about it." Shawn said. "Tarpy's the one that killed her. That's why she attacked me and Gus. I guess no one else fit the bill since she's been haunting this place. She probably holds a grudge against fiery-tempered men who serve justice."

Sam stared at Shawn. "And especially those that break it too. According to your version of the story, he shot Sarah in cold-blood. Dean and I certainly aren't poster boys for the law. And neither are you two, lying to the police about how you really solve crimes. And Dean's been pretty aggressive lately, because of the Mark of Cain."

"Yeah. He was a demon a few weeks ago. So cool." Shawn commented.

"So we've got motive, but what is her spirit tied to?" Gus asked, ignoring Shawn.

Shawn sucked in a breath and stuck his finger to his head. "I'm having a vision!"

"Shawn," both Sam and Gus scolded at the same time.

"Sorry, force of habit." Shawn apologized. "I noticed it when we were here earlier for dinner. There was a handkerchief nailed to the wall here, right next to where Tarpy's gun holster was." Shawn said, pointing.

"'Sarah Nicholson's,'" Sam read, and cursed. "She must have grabbed it after possessing Dean. If we can get that handkerchief, we can stop her."

"How do we find her? Where would she take Dean?" Gus said.

Shawn's eyes widened. "She's obsessed with Tarpy and targets guys like him. She probably wants to kill Dean the way Tarpy was killed." Shawn took off running outside, and Sam and Gus chased after him.

"Where?" Sam shouted.

Shawn turned around, still running off into the hills. "Tarpy's Flats!"

Chapter Text

Dean

Dean groaned as his eyelids fluttered open, his head buzzing. He tried to move his arms and found that he couldn't. He blinked a few more times, clearing his eyesight before looking down. His wrists and ankles were tied, and he was propped up against a tall, thick pine tree. He had a bad feeling about which tree it was.

Sarah Nicholson's pale, ghostly form stood in front of Dean, her back facing him. With her vengeful ghost juice, she probably had had no trouble tying Dean up. He could tell because she held another long piece of rope in her hands. And it looked like she was twisting it into a noose.

"Are you one of those ghosts that talk or do you just scream and attack people?" Dean said after straining against the ropes with no luck.

Nicholson turned around, glaring at Dean. The pale moonlight allowed him to really see what she looked like this time. She had long, dark hair that hung loose around her shoulders. She wore an old-fashioned flowing white dress, which would have been pretty if it wasn't stained with blood from multiple bullet holes. For a ghost, she looked surprisingly well put-together. Kind of like Bobby had been.

"I talk. When I want to." Nicholson said softly, examining the noose.

She held the rope up to Dean's head and he leaned away, but thankfully she didn't put it around his neck. Yet. Instead she tossed it up and over a large branch.

"So what's your deal?" Dean asked, trying to free his hands. "Was I too special for you to kill right away back at Tarpy's Roadhouse? Or are you sentimental? You have to kill me the way Tarpy was killed, in the same place?" Nicholson looked at him, surprised. "Yeah, I'm smarter than I look, sweetheart. This is Tarpy's Flats, isn't it? Do I remind you of your boyfriend?"

Instantly, Nicholson was right in front of Dean, and her hand pressed against his chest, right over his heart. He gasped, his lungs no longer working and his body temperature dropping below freezing. "Be. Quiet." Nicholson growled, and yanked her arm away.

Dean gasped, slouching as he caught his breath. He had no strength to fight as she untied his feet and forced him to stand. That's when she reached for the noose hanging from the tree branch.

Dean mustered up his strength. Before Nicholson turned back around, he took off running, simultaneously trying to free his hands.

Without warning, Nicholson appeared in front of Dean. She shoved him and he went flying through the air, slamming into the tree. He fell to the ground, groaning. Nicholson approached him and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a handkerchief.

"As long as you can't get rid of this, you're not escaping me," Nicholson muttered murderously, sticking the handkerchief back into Dean's pocket where he couldn't reach it with his hands still tied.

Before Dean could even think about resisting, Nicholson thrust her hand to his chest again to keep him from fighting as she slipped the noose around his neck. When she released him, he was too disoriented to fight back.

"Unfortunately for you, your death won't be as quick as Matt's was." Nicholson said from behind him.

Dean's senses quickly returned when she started pulling on the other end of the rope, lifting Dean into the air. The noose tightened around his neck, strangling him. He kicked his legs, but since she was a ghost there was nothing to kick, and he couldn't unwrap the noose from his neck. Dean couldn't get any air in his lungs, and he felt his face turn red. If he survived this, he was definitely going to have bruises on his neck.

"Hey!" Sam's familiar voice shouted and Dean looked down.

Sam, Shawn, and Gus stood below him. Shawn and Gus were looking up at Dean, while Sam was focused on the ghost beneath him. He held up his shotgun and pulled the trigger.

The force on the other end of the rope disappeared and Dean dropped to the ground, gasping. Finally, he was able to pull off the noose.

"Check on Dean," Dean heard Sam order Shawn and Gus. "I'll find the handkerchief."

Dean was still coughing too much to tell Sam he knew exactly where the handkerchief was. Shawn and Gus rushed over to him, but Shawn was knocked out of the way by an invisible force. Gus screamed and dropped to his knees in front of Dean and untied his hands. Then he, too, was tossed back by Sarah Nicholson.

Dean slowly sat up, still coughing. Sam kept shooting at Nicholson, but she kept him too busy to look for the handkerchief, and Shawn and Gus weren't close enough to help.

Dean reached into his pockets, pulling out a lighter and the handkerchief. Nicholson noticed and rushed him, but it was too late. The fire touched the corner of the handkerchief, and Nicholson went up in flames, screaming.

Dean dropped the handkerchief and laid back down. It was over.

Chapter Text

Shawn

"Dean," Sam said, running over to Dean. Sam knelt beside him and Dean groaned as Sam helped him sit up. "You okay?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I feel like I got run over by a truck during a really bad hangover, but yeah. I'll be fine." He coughed a few more times and rubbed his throat.

Sam sighed, clapping Dean on the back. "You had me worried for a minute there."

Shawn and Gus slowly joined Sam and Dean. Shawn's head was hurting a lot more than it had been earlier, and he was pretty sure the "mild concussion" the paramedics had told him he had before had been upgraded to "major." Gus clutched his previously dislocated shoulder like it was hurting him again.

Sam helped Dean to his feet, and Dean brushed himself off, still coughing every so often. The two brothers looked at Shawn and Gus as the four of them started walking back to Tarpy's Roadhouse.

"What the hell were you two thinking following us back to Tarpy's?" Dean demanded. "You could have gotten yourselves killed."

"Shawn made me do it," Gus blurted out. "I said the same thing. He insisted. He does this kind of thing all the time."

"Thanks for the assist, Gus." Shawn rolled his eyes. He faced Sam and Dean again. "You're Sam and Dean Winchester. You were about to kill an actual ghost. How could I miss that?"

"Easily," Sam said. "You're better off still believing that everything on Supernatural is just fiction."

"I'm still not sure I'm gonna wake up tomorrow and think this was real," Gus butted in. "I'm happy to continue believing it's fake."

"See, now why can't you be like him?" Dean asked Shawn, gesturing to Gus.

"Because then I wouldn't be me," Shawn said, as though it were obvious, because it was. "And there would be none of this!" He exclaimed dramatically, touching his finger to his head.

"That's the point," Dean grumbled.

They made it back to Tarpy's and gathered around the Impala and Gus's Blueberry. Sam and Dean unlocked the trunk of their car and started putting away their guns and flashlights.

"You know, even after all that, that case went by pretty quickly." Sam realized.

Dean looked up. "Yeah, I guess you're right. We only drove into town what, three, four hours ago?"

"That's gotta be a record." Sam chuckled.

Dean pulled four beers out of a cooler in their trunk, handing one to Sam, Shawn, and Gus. "I still don't like you two, but you've earned it," Dean said, raising his drink.

Sam, Dean, Shawn, and Gus clinked their bottles together and drank. Gus chugged his down, obviously still freaked out.

Sam leaned against the Impala. "I don't get it. If that show has been going on for ten years, how were we not recognized sooner?"

Dean groaned, taking another swig of his beer. "Let's just drop it. We didn't make a big deal about it before, let's not now. If it ain't broke, don't fix it, you know? I never want to think about it again."

Sam sighed, lifting his bottle to his lips. "Yeah. Agreed."

Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer. "Crap," Dean said.

Gus shrunk back, looking guilty.

"Gus, what did you do?" Shawn asked him.

Gus shied away. "I forgot I called Juliet after the ghost possessed Dean."

"Crap." Sam echoed his brother. "We need to get out of here."

"Go," Shawn insisted. "We'll figure out something to tell them about the ghost." Gus tossed their drinks into the backseat of the Blueberry as Dean shut the trunk of his car.

"Don't have to tell me twice," Dean said.

Sam and Dean climbed into the Impala, and Dean backed out of their parking space. He rolled down his window. "Don't take this the wrong way," Dean shouted over the engine, "But I hope we never see either of you two again."

Shawn gave him a thumbs-up and he and Gus waved as the Impala disappeared out the back exit of the parking lot, so they didn't attract the attention of the cops on their way out. Lassiter and Juliet pulled up almost immediately after the two hunters vanished.

"Shawn, what is going on?" Juliet wondered, running over to them. "Are you all right?"

Shawn rubbed his hands together, glancing at Gus with a smile. "I had a vision."

~

"Who could that be?" Gus wondered, walking over to open the door of the Psych office for whoever had knocked.

A week had passed since the ghost incident with Sam and Dean. Shawn had easily convinced Juliet and Lassiter that it was some freak accident that had injured him and Gus and nearly destroyed the restaurant. With his track record, it was child's play.

True to their word, Sam and Dean never showed up again. They left town immediately and never called, which while Shawn had hoped they would, he didn't expect them to.

Gus opened the door, and in walked someone else Shawn had never thought was real.

Shawn gasped like a little school girl, walking over to stand next to Gus. "You're Castiel. Gus that's Castiel. An actual angel is standing in our office."

"Gentlemen," Castiel nodded. He was wearing his usual tan trench coat, but no tie. "Sam and Dean called. They told me there was a situation they needed my help with. Specifically, replacing your memories."

Shawn and Gus both backed up as Castiel stepped forward, raising his hands. Shawn tried to protest, but Castiel's fingers touched his head, and everything went black.

The End!