~*****~

"Whoa--" I hear Dean suck in a breath. "That's a lot of blood."

I grimace as I turn to Sam. "Yeah, I know." Sam mentions shakily.

"Right... So, uh, in there." Dean says shakily as he gestures to the glass container.

"P.T. Sandover's gloves." Sam sighs.

"Right. How much you want to bet there's a little smidge of DNA in there?" Dean asks. "You know, like a fingernail clipping, or a hair or two. Something."

"So, you ready?" Sam asks.

Dean and I glance at one another nervously. "I have no idea." Dean huffs.

"Me neither." Sam retorts.

"Your bloody shirt is making me sick if that gives any inkling." I mention with a grimace. With a quick swing, my iron poker cracks through the glass easily. I feel a cold chill over my neck. I give a sharp grunt as I'm thrown away from the container. I glance up just in time to see P.T. reaching for me. I grasp the salt container to my right and sling it at him.

"Oh, nice!" Dean comments breathlessly. I suck in a wild breath as P.T. appears behind Dean.

"Dean!" Sam shouts and tosses him an iron poker.

He turns, as if completely led by instinct, and swings. "Nice catch!" Sam says.

"Right?" Dean grins.

I roll my eyes as they start playing peekaboo with P.T. and scramble across the ground, wrap my fingers around the gloves, cutting my hands up in the glass and tossing them on the ground, and torching them.

"Did it ever occur to either of you to stop acting like large ass children and do the thing we say we needed to do?" I ask irritably as Sam stumbles to his feet.

"That was amazing!" Sam suddenly exclaims, his face split in a wide grin.

Dean begins to laugh at my flabberghasted expression, but I eventually join in on the laughter. 

~*****~

"I don't think I've had that much fun in my entire life!" I mention as I pace around Dean's office.

"Me neither," Sam agrees.

"It was a hell of a workout, too, wasn't it?" Dean asks as he grasps my hand and starts disinfecting the wounds on my hands.

"We should keep doing this," Sam comments.

Dean laughs. "I know."

"I mean it." Sam says. "There got to be other ghosts out there. We could help a lot of people."

"Yeah, right. We'd be like the Ghost Facers." Dean jokes.

"No, really," Sam presses. "I mean... for real."

"What?" Dean asks, glancing at me to see if I feel the same. "Quit our jobs and hit the road?"

I didn't meet his gaze. "Exactly!" Sam nods.

"How would we live?" Dean asks. Sam fumbles. "Come on. You got to be kidding me. How would we get by-- with stolen credit cards? Huh? Eating diner food drenched in saturated fats? Sharing a crap motel room every night?"

"That's all just details."

"Details are everything!" Dean exclaims. "You don't want to go fighting ghosts without any health insurance."

I blow out a soft breath. "I... kinda wanna do it, Dean." I mention. "I mean, I have a slight confession." Dean raises a brow at me. "So you remember those freaky dreams Sam told you about? With the ghosts? Well... I was having them, too... all those nights I'd woken up, kinda dazed and not knowing where the hell I was? In those dreams, I felt, real, like that was my life. Fighting ghosts.... With... you two..." I murmur shyly.

"That's exactly what I was dreaming," Sam mentions softly. "We were... these, like... hunters. And we were friends. More like brothers, really. I mean, what if that's who we really are? I mean, you saw us back there, working together. T-The ghosts was scrambling people's brains. What if it scrambled ours?"

"That's insane." Dean snorts as he gets up.

"Is it, though?" I ask meekly. "I mean, all this--" I gesture to the room. "It feels wrong."

"Baby, the ghost is dead, and we're still standing," Dean comments. "I mean, I'm sorry, but--"

"Look, all I know is, this isn't who we're supposed to be." Sam says quickly.

"No. I'm Dean Smith, okay? Director of Sales and Marketing. I went to Stanford. My father's name was Bob, my mother's name was Ellen, and my sister's name is Jo." Dean recites.

"When's the last time you talked to them?" Sam asks. "To any of them."

"Okay, you're upset. You're upset and you're confused--" Dean shakes his head.

"Yeah, 'cause I only moved here 'cause I just broke up with my fiancée, Madison. But I called her number, and I got a damn animal hospital." Sam exclaims.

"Okay, what are you saying?" Dean asks. "Y-You trying to say that-- that my family isn't real? Huh? That we've been injected with fake memories? Come on!"

"All I know is, I got this feeling in my gut. And I know-- I know that deep down, you got to be feeling it, too." Sam expresses. "We're supposed to be something else. You're not just some corporate douche bag. This isn't you! I know you. Both of you."

"Know me? You don't know me, pal. You should go." Dean says sternly.

I remain silent as Sam stalks out of the room without another word.

~*****~

The next morning feels like I'm in a fog. I stare at my computer distractedly, wondering what the hell was going on. My brain was all jumbled. "Got a minute?" I flinch upwards and gaze at our boss.

"Yeah, sure, come in." Dean says softly.

"How are you feeling, Dean?" Mr. Adler asks as he offers me a polite smile.

"Uh... great." Dean states.

"You look a little tired. Hope the missus isn't giving you grief." Mr. Adler jokes. Dean chuckles and prepares a response, but Mr. Adler stops him. "Ah, don't be modest. I hear everything. And I'm pleased with what I'm hearing. That's why it's important to me that you're happy." Mr. Adler takes one of my pens and sticky notes and scribbles down a number before handing it to Dean. "How's that for a bonus?"

"Very generous," Dean says softly.

"Purely selfish. I want to make sure you're not going anywhere." Mr. Adler beams.

"Wow... are you sure?" Dean asks.

"Positive." Mr. Adler hums. "You are Sandover material, son-- real go-getter, carving your own way."

"Well, thanks, I try," Dean says as I clench my hands together tightly.

"I see big things in your future. Maybe even... Senior V.P. Eastern Great Lakes Division. Don't get me wrong, you'll have to work for it-- Seven days a week, lunch at your desk-- but in eight to ten short years, that could be you." Mr. Adler continues.

"Uh, well, thank you." Dean huffs as he takes out his earpiece. "Thank you, sir. It's um... but... I am giving my notice. Both of ours." Dean gestures to me. I give him a sweet smile and kick off my heels.

"This is a joke. You're kidding me, right?" Mr. Adler asked, glancing between the two of us.

"No, I... I recently-- uh, very recently-- realized that we have some other work we have to do. It's um... very important to us." Dean states.

"Other work? Another company?" Mr. Adler asks.

"No, I-- it's hard to explain. It's just that this... This is, it's just--" Dean tugs at his tie for a minute. "It's not who I'm supposed to be."

Mr. Adler smiles brightly after a moment or two. Dean and I share a confused look. "Dean, Dean, Dean..." Mr. Adler sighs. "Finally."

With a soft press against my forehead, I suddenly remember who I was. "What the fuck!" I shout.

"What the hell?" Dean murmurs as he looks around. "Why am I wearing a tie? My god, I am hungry!"

"Welcome back." Zachariah giggles.

"Wait. Did I-- Did I just get touched by-- You're an angel, aren't you?" Dean asks as he stands up. I furiously rip pins out of my hair and start shoving off the blazer I'm wearing, swearing up and down how ridiculous I look.

"Of course he is--" I growl angrily. "Mother fucker-- you could've warned me this is what you were planning, you son of a bitch--" I snap irritably. 

Zachariah just giggles. "I'm Zachariah."

"Oh, great, that's all I need, is another one of you guys." Dean groans.

"I'm hardly another one, Dean. I'm Castiel's superior. You think he could manipulate Carlotta's memories like I have? Believe me, I had no interest in popping down here and into one of these smelly things. But after the unfortunate situation with Uriel--"

"Which you haven't explained to me!" I hiss at him.

"I felt it necessary to pay a visit--" Zachariah explains without acknowledging me. "Get my ducks in a row."

"We are not any of your ducks!" I snap at him.

"Starting with your attitudes," Zachariah warns.

"Oh, so, what? This-- this was all some sort of lesson? Is that what you're telling me? Well, very creative." Dean snaps.

"You should see my decoupage." Zachariah hums.

We both grimace. "Gross." Dean says. "No, thank you. So, what, I'm-- I'm just hallucinating all this? Is that it?"

"Not at all. Real place, real haunting. Just plunked you in the middle without the benefit of your memories." Zachariah says.

"Just to shake things up? Huh?" Dean asks. "So you guys can have fun watching us run around like ass-clowns in-- in monkey suits?"

"To prove to you that the path you're on is truly in your blood." Zachariah snaps. "You're hunters. Not because your dad made you. Not because God called you back from Hell. But because it is what you are. And you love it. You'll find your way to it in the dark every single time, and you're miserable without it. Dean, let's be real here-- you're good at this. You'll be successful. You will stop it."

"Stop what?" Dean asks. "The Apocalypse, huh? Lucifer? What? Be specific, man!"

"You'll do everything you're destined to do. All of it." Zachariah states. "But I know, I know. You're not strong enough. You're scared. You got daddy issues. You can't do it, right?"

"Angel or not, I will stab you in the face," Dean threatens.

"All I'm saying is, it's how you look at it." Zachariah says. "Most folks live and die without moving anything more than the dirt it takes to bury them. You get to change things... Save people. Maybe even the world. All the while, you drive a classic car and you get to fornicate with Christ. This isn't a curse-- it's a gift. So, for God's sake, Dean, quit whining about it. Look around. There are plenty of fates worse than yours. So, you with me? You want to go steam yourself another latte? Or are you ready to stand up... and be who you really are?"

~*****~

"So... tell me again?" I ask irritably as I rub at my temples. "The apocalypse started with you getting off the rack?"

"Pretty much sums it up," Dean sighs.

I huff. "That's moronic-- why would that be a seal? Any man would jump off after thirty years of being torn apart." Dean's brows furrow.

"Lottie, I started this, it's my fault--"

"Oh, that's enough of that." I snap. "Righteous man, you are, but there are millions of other men on the planet-- odds are one of them are righteous, too, and could end up in Hell, too." I get up and grasp my flask. "God, those three weeks totally killed my appetite. I want like, four cheeseburgers and a pizza."

Dean cracks a smile. "Yeah, me too." He laughs. "What about you? What were you up to?"

I shrug. "Cured a dude who'd been bitten by a werewolf."

"What, with a silver bullet?" Sam laughed.

"No, genius. I'm Jesus, remember? I can heal the blind, make dogs talk, or whatever," I mention lightly. I laugh at my own joke. "Damn, did that dog talk. No, I pulled it right out. I spat it out into a bucket and set it in John's storage bunker for safe keeping."

"Seriously?" Sam asks, his tone all of sudden serious. "Lottie, this is big-- you can cure a bite from a werewolf."

I shrug. "I think it's only because he hadn't taken that first bite yet-- I mean, yeah, he did kill the guy who bit him in a blind rage, but his soul was squeaky clean-- like Mr. Clean got in there and wiped his ass with it."

Sam grimaced as Dean begin to laugh.