"𝙍𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩, 𝙧𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩. 𝙄 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙬𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙝 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚, 𝘿𝙚𝙖𝙣. 𝙊𝙧 𝙙𝙞𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙨𝙪𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙡𝙮 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙢𝙮 𝙜𝙪𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙖𝙨𝙨 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙞𝙣𝙩𝙤 𝙞𝙩?"

Three weeks. 

It had been three weeks since Delaney had joined back with her brothers and Theodore. No sign of them finding the Colt had been in sight and it, honestly, was frustrating Delaney a bit. More so that she barely even slept as of late, not wanting Lucifer to pop back into her dreams again and try to sway her into letting him in. As if she'd ever do that.

Currently, her feet rested in Theodore's lap who grumbled and finally gave up trying to shove her feet from his lap as she wore a wicked smirk, John's journal placed in her lap as she scribbled notes into it with her flashlight rested in between her shoulder and chin while Dean sped through the empty, dark highway ahead. She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as Dean finished telling the trio about the case he might have found for them. "So, what's this job exactly then?"

"Della, a dude suffered a head on collision in a parked car. Don't you think that's worth checking out?" Dean asked, glancing at her through the rearview mirror with a raised eyebrow.

"I mean . . . yeah it's definitely got a spirit or something written all over it, but . . . don't you think we have bigger problems? If the Colt is really out there somewhere - "

"We've been looking for three weeks and we got nothing, Delly," Sam chimed in, his own flashlight propped between his shoulder and chin as he scanned over the map for Dean to tell him where to go with his legs tucked beneath him on the seat.

Delaney huffed and dropped the flashlight into her hands as her eyes bounced between her brothers in the front seat. "I know, but . . . if we're gonna ice the devil - "

"This is what we're doing, Delaney, okay?" Dean cut her off harshly, instantly snapping Delaney's mouth shut with a small glare from her at his rudeness. "End of discussion. I'm not talking about it or being swayed so don't even try to cute your way through this one. It's not happening. This is our first real case back together, okay? You know, I think we ought to ease into it, put the training wheels back on."

Delaney pushed her tongue into her cheek as she scoffed softly, nodding her head. "So you think I need training wheels again? Dean, I told you . . . I can handle it."

Dean groaned and threw his head back, rubbing a hand over his face as he continued to drive down the empty road. "No, Della. I meant we need training wheels. You, Sammy and I as a team. We have a new recruit unless you missed the big idiot behind me."

"Hey! That's handsome idiot to you, sir," Theodore replied, pushing the back of Dean's head playfully with a smirk as Dean suppressed a smirk of his own.

Delaney exhaled heavily, remaining silent for the rest of the drive as she fell back against the door behind her. She fiddled with the pen in her hand as she tapped it lightly against John's journal with a small frown. She knew Dean was just trying to ease them back into being together again and starting over, but part of her still knew that Sam and Dean were keeping a close eye on her to see if she'd trip and fall back into the demon blood crap. Not that she really blamed them either as she still felt the cravings for it, cravings she knew would never go away.

She just had to remain stronger than the cravings and she hoped to God that she stayed that way.

"Agents Bonham and Copeland," Delaney said to the police officer at the station the next morning, holding up her fake FBI badge with Dean as the duo stood next to each other while Theodore and Sam stayed back in the car.

"Rick Carnegie. Good to know you," the rounded and dark haired officer greeted, shaking both of the siblings' hands. "So you're here on account of Cal Hokin's death? Afraid you came a long way for nothing. We already booked the guy that did it."

Dean exchanged a look with Delaney, both of them expressing the same silent agreement of what the fuck. "Oh, I - I'm sorry. Who do you think did it?"

Rick jerked his head behind him for Delaney and Dean to follow him to the interrogation room in the book. He lead them inside the small room, gesturing for them to grab a seat at the metal table before he picked up the remote on the table and switched on the tiny TV in the corner of the room. A video displayed on the screen and who Delaney assumed was Cal came into view, head smashed straight through the tiny windshield of the small car he was sat in as the man behind the camera screamed for his friend and dropped the camera, effectively ending the video.

"Sicko taped his own handiwork," Rick commented, switching off the TV again with the remote in his hand and turned to Dean and Delaney again. "It was Jim Grossman that killed Cal. He was the only one on the scene for miles."

"But they were best friends," Delaney noted, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion as her brain tried to match up the pieces that didn't fit together.

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

"Yes, and how exactly did Jim slam Cal into a windshield with all the force of an eighty-mile-per-hour crash?" Dean retorted, folding his hand on the metal table as he smiled falsely at Rick.

Rick eyed the two siblings who both wore matching expressions of sarcasm as he shrugged. "I don't know. Drugs, maybe? You know this ain't brain surgery, guys. Whatever it looks like, that's what it usually is. It's simple."

Delaney hummed sarcastically with a nod as if she believed the cop before her. "Right, well . . . we'd still like to talk to Jim Grossman anyway. You know because it's simple." She remarked back, earning her a quiet snort from Dean who rolled his lips into his mouth to hide the smirk that formed on his face while Delaney just smiled in triumph as they cop walked away to get them the information for Jim.

"I was in the house when it happened. I didn't even see it," Jim Grossman, a middle-aged man with dark hair and eyes sat before the two siblings in the holding cell. He was sat at table table, his cuffed hands clasped together on the table that separated him from Dean and Delaney who stood near the bars. 

Delaney crossed her arms across her chest as nodded, eyeing him for a moment. "And for argument's sake, say we believe you. We're not your typical cops so why don't you tell us exactly what you saw?"

Jim shook his head as he leant back against the back of his seat as he exhaled heavily. "It's not what I saw, but what I heard. Tires squealing, glass breaking. It was the car that did it."

Dean blinked rapidly for a moment as Delaney glanced over to him with furrowed his eyebrows. He shared the same baffled look as his baby sister before his eyes flickered back to Jim. "The — the car?"

"I mean, I heard about the curse, but I just thought it was a load of crap," Jim continued to ramble on as if Dean had never spoken, which was fine anyway as Dean and Delaney both were stunned into silence. "You know the car? Little Bastard?"

"Little Bastard?" Dean repeated, stepping closer to the man with wide blown eyes in pure and utter shock. "As in the Little Bastard? The car that James Dean was killed in?"

"Yeah, that's the one," Jim affirmed, eyes bouncing between the two siblings that both exchanged yet another look with each other, sharing some sort of secret silent talk. "Cal had been looking for the damn thing for years. I mean, hell, we both had, but he found it first."

Dean glanced over his shoulder to Delaney and grinned at her. "We are definitely checking this out."

After getting the information on where Cal's garage was from Jim, the Winchesters and Theodore made their way over to it and let themselves inside. There, in the middle of the garage, was the the tiny, white car with blood caked into the driver's side portion of the windshield. The blood covered the entirety of it with a jagged crack in the top where part of the windshield had broken off into Cal's face and Delaney grimaced as she realized just how hard that Cal had been smashed into the windshield in the first place.

"So, what, this is like Christine?" Theodore asked, eyes flitting around the tiny car while Dean stared at it in awe. 

"No, Christine is fiction. This — this is real. After James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage and he fixed it up. It repaid him by . . . " — he clicked his tongue while making a swiping motion against his throat — ". . . falling on him. Then 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. Then in 1970, it vanished off the back of a truck. Nobody's seen it since. I'm telling you, guys. If this — if this car is Little Bastard, I will bet you dollars to doughnuts it's what killed Cal."

Delaney rolled her eyes fondly at Dean as he practically geeked out over the car to the trio stood on the other side side of the car from him. "And how do you expect us to find out, Dee?"

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

"Okay, and I'm guessing the engine number — "

"On the engine, yeah," Dean finished for Delaney with huff of a nod, eyes flickering around the car timidly that they had to figure out how to get the number from when they couldn't even touch it properly if they wanted to keep breathing.

"Great."

Dean had eventually gotten the engine number from beneath Little Bastard after spending ten minute shitting his own pants as he shakily scribbled the number down from beneath the car. He'd handed the number off to Delaney, Sam and Theodore to track and research over while he ran off to wherever it was he'd gone. Which, Delaney and the boys later found out had been a bar where he'd hid after being scared off by the car itself. 

The car had been a duplicate and not the true Little Bastard like they had once thought and it meant that they now had to figure out what else had killed Cal that night at the garage with Jim. Luckily for them, Theodore had caught wind of another death when he ran out to get the four some morning coffee and had quickly rattled off about some guy dying in his own home with a bullet through his skull and the police were confused on what did it. 

While Theodore and Sam stayed at the motel to do more research on what could have possessed the fake car, Dean and Delaney ran out dressed in their FBI outfits once again to find the officer they'd spoken to the day before. The house had been flooded with cops and forensic scientists alike as they flitted around the house, taking photos of the very little evidence they had and took samples of just about every space they could find to test out what did it. 

"Heard you got another weird one," Dean announced to Rick when he and Delaney approached him in the man's study where he'd died, blood splattered against the frame with a document that had Abraham Lincoln's face plastered along the top. 

"Well, it's a — it's a little strange on the surface, I admit," Rick admitted, skirting around Dean and Delaney to step out of the study and back out into the living room that across from the study. "But, you know, once you look at the facts . . . "

"William Hill died from a gunshot wound to the head. There was no gun, no gunpowder and no bullet," Delaney deadpanned, staring blankly at Rick as if he had grown fifty heads. "That's totally not weird or anything."

Rick sighed, his shoulders dropping in irritation as he placed his hands on his round hips. "Well, there's got to be a reasonable explanation. There always is."

Dean scoffed softly, placing his hands into his suit pant pockets as he tilted his head at Rick. "Then what would your lovely reasonable explanation be?"

Rick eyed the space around them as if they weren't the only ones in the room with the other cops still walking around the house to find the evidence they clearly didn't have. He leant closer to the two siblings who merely raised their eyebrows at him. "Professional killer. CIA, NSA, one of them trained assassins — like in Michael Clayton." 

Delaney choked back the urge to bark out a laugh at the guy's wild accusation as she turned her amused expression to Dean who licked his lips to hide his own amused smile from Rick.

"Look, you two are more than welcome to take a look around, but these guys don't leave fingerprints. Hell, even talk to the witness, but she's not making any sense — in English or Spanish."

Delaney tugged on Dean's jacket sleeve before he could chortle at Rick, pulling him back outside to the front of the house where the maid, Consuela, sat on the wooden bench just outside the house. She offered the woman a kind smile as she flashed her FBI badge along with Dean, which sent the cop that had been speaking to her to scurry off. "Hi, Consuela. Now, you said you saw something in the professor's house. Something in the window?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak after Consuela had rattled off a bunch of sentences in Spanish, but no words came out as it snapped shut again with a confused expression on his face as he hadn't understood a word of what Consuela had said.

Delaney puffed out her cheeks and stepped towards the woman, taking a seat next to her on the bench with the kind smile still on her face. "Um, Consuela. DiGanos lo que vio," she rattled off to the woman, the vague context of what she remembered from her first year of taking Spanish in college coming to her mind. For good use, too, finally.

"Nice," Dean complimented Delaney, proud smile on his face at his baby sister.

"Freshman Spanish," Delaney scrunched her nose up as she tore her gaze from Consuela and over to Dean. "Will had me do it."

"Era alto, muy alto," Consuela responded suddenly, snapping Delaney and Dean's attention back over to her. "Y llevaba el abrigo negro largo y tenía bigotes."

Delaney blinked for a moment, her mind trying to rapidly put the words Conseula had just said into English in her brain as if it were Google Translate. "I — okay. Um, she saw a tall man. Very tall with a long black coat and, uh, a beard."

"Y un sombrero."

"Dude was wearing a sombrero?" Dean choked out through a small laugh, eyes wide with sudden amusement as he looked to Delaney.

"A hat, Dean," Delaney deadpanned, shaking her head as Consuela spoke again about it being a big hat in Spanish. "Oh, um . . .  a tall hat."

Dean raised his hand above his head as his eyes snapped to Consuela who looked up at him now and she nodded when she saw what he was signaling about. "She means a stovepipe hat. You know, like freakin' Abraham Lincoln."

"Si, si. President Lincoln killed Mr. Hill," Consuela cried, her Spanish accent still heavy as she spoke in English. "So — so I go home now?"

"Uh, si. Gracias, Consuela," Delaney replied swiftly in Spanish and turned to Dean as the woman pushed up from the bench and walked away, sniffling to herself. "Seriously, what the fuck is happening?"

"Hell if I know, Della."

Delaney sat in the motel room, her laptop propped open along with Sam's while the duo's fingers flew across their keyboards as they researched together. Dean and Theodore tried to flip through lore books for something that could either bring back spirits that mimic historic figures and celebrities or if both men really had something that could link them to the spirits. Delaney's chin propped into her hand as she scrolled aimlessly through the research site she'd found and huffed to herself when nothing stood out that could help them with their current gig.

That was . . . until Sam hummed across from her and her eyes flickered up to him. 

"Here's a freeze frame from Jim Grossman's video," Sam began, flipping his laptop around for Delaney and the boys to see as Theo and Dean walked up behind Delaney's chair to look at Sam's laptop over her shoulder. It was frozen on a frame of the tire rim of the car with a reflection of red in the shiny metal piece. Upon closer inspection, Delaney made out the shape of a person and she froze when she realized it looked just like James Dean. "Am I insane or does that look like James Dean?"

"Um, no. That — that is definitely James Dean," Theodore responded, eyes squinting as he tried to inspect the frame closer, leaning on Delaney's shoulders as he did while she grumbled for him to get off. "So we got Abraham Lincoln and James Dean? Famous ghosts?"

"We'll have a Theodore Mitchell one also if you don't get off," Delaney mumbled, shoving Theodore off her and fixed her shirt that he'd messed up in the process. "Isn't there a ton of lore on famous ghosts? More than the, you know, non-famous ghosts? I'm actually surprised we haven't run into one before."

"Yeah, but now we got two of them, baby girl?" Dean asked, leaning his hands on the table next to Delaney as he chewed the inside of her lip. "Two extremely pissed-off ghosts?"

Delaney focused back on her laptop and clicked to another web page on professor Hill as her eyes scanned the screen, freezing as she read the biography of him on the University of Ohio's website. "Apparently they're ganking their fans, too. Says here that professor Hill was a Civil War nut. He dug Lincoln. Cal was probably a big fan of James Dean if he spent seventeen years trying to find the thing."

Dean groaned and ducked his head, hanging it between his arms as one hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "So, what you're saying is that we have two super-famous, super pissed off ghosts killing their super fans? Well that is muchos loco."

Delaney snorted at Dean's attempt of Spanish and shook her head. "Muy. Not muchos."

Dean playfully pushed his baby sister's head as he stood back up to his full height and placed his hands on his hips as paced back and forth along the side of the table. "Yeah, well, the big question is . . . what the hell are they doing here?"

Theodore nodded in agreement, arms leaning along the back of Delaney's chair as he ran a hand over his mouth in thought. "Yeah, ghosts usually haunt places they lived. I mean, I get Abraham Lincoln at the White House or James Dean at a racetrack, but . . . what are they doing in Canton?"

After hours of research, Delaney and the boys found a wax museum in town that had wax figures of the exact famous spirits that had been running around town. The same museum that had the actual top hat of Abraham Lincoln and the actual key chain from James Dean. Two things linked to the spirits and could be why they were able to attack people the way they were. Which only added to a number of ways that the four had to figure out how to get the pieces and burn them so the spirits could be put to rest once and for all.

Deciding to get fresh air after being stuck in the motel for another few years, Delaney told the boys she was gonna head out and clean up the weapons and make sure everything was stocked for when they needed to go out and handle what was happening. The boys had all waved her off with a mumble to keep her phone and gun on her godforbid anything happened while she was alone out there. She didn't even know how long she spent out there, but she was slightly frozen from the cold when she finally stepped back into the motel room and her eyebrow raised when she saw Dean stood with his back to her by the window and Sam and Theo both gone to get dinner still for all of them.

"Yeah, Abraham Lincoln and James Dean. Can you believe that? Why so kill-crazy? Ah, maybe the apocalypse has got them all hot and bothered. Yeah, well, we all know whose fault that is."

Delaney scoffed quietly to herself as her eyes narrowed on Dean's back who still hadn't noticed she'd stepped into the room as he promised the person on the other end that he was keeping an eye on her. She poked her tongue into her cheek and slammed the door closed behind her, startling her eldest brother and causing him to whip around to face her, shocked minutely before he's rushing off the phone. "What's going on, Dean?"

"Did you get the trunk packed up and ready?" Dean returned, ignoring her question altogether as he walked over to the beds where Delaney and Sam's laptops laid so he could switch them both off while they went out.

"Yeah, the trunk's packed. Who was on the phone?" Delaney asked, dark eyes following Dean as the irritation flowed freely in her tone as she watched him.

"Bobby."

Delaney hummed and crossed her arms, stepping further into the room towards Dean with a bed length separating them as she placed her waist to one foot. Her dark, curly hair flicked behind over her shoulder and kissed her teeth as she eyed him. "Right and . . . you and I are just gonna pretend that I didn't hear what you just said?"

Dean shrugged indifferently, not showing a single ounce of care that Delaney had, in fact, heard him. "Pretend or don't pretend, whatever floats your boat."

"Right, right. I thought we were having a fresh start here, Dean. Or did you suddenly forget that you were the one that handed me back my gun and told me to get my ass back into it?" Delaney quipped, watching Dean as he turned his back to her and walked back towards the table on the other side of the room. 

Dean snatched up his jacket and slung around his shoulders, shaking his head. "This is as fresh as you're getting, Delaney Elizabeth. Take it or leave it. Now, are we going or not?"

Delaney pursed her lips as the two siblings stared each other down before Delaney puffed out her cheeks, turning on her heel to stalk toward the motel room door just as Sam and Theodore returned with small finger food to eat quickly in the car on the way to the museum. When both of their questioning gazes flickered between the suddenly irritated youngest and eldest Winchester sibling, she rolled her eyes and mumbled for them to just forget it before she was stalking out to the Impala ready to just get the night over with so she can bury herself into the motel blankets again.

Anything was better than feeling the tension that suffocated the whole room after that.

Once arriving to the museum and each of them having their proper guns loaded and ready, the four split up amongst the museum and, naturally, Delaney had landed herself in the room with the Abraham Lincoln figure. Her eyes narrowed as she slowly approached the item, steps cautious as if worried the thing would suddenly come to life and flick a bullet through her skull next like Professor Hill. Just as Delaney got close enough to the figure to inspect it and see if she could find anything out of the ordinary besides the hat, the double doors to the expansive show room slammed closed and she whipped around, gun drawn. 

"Dean?" Delaney called out, pace fast as she walked over to the door, curls bouncing as they swung down her leather jacket covered back, and tugged on it but to no avail. "Sammy? Theodore? " She tugged on the door for another moment until she froze, breath coming out in a light mist as the room dropped in temperature drastically. She turned quickly with her rifle raised in preparation for anything to pop out as her feet slowly trekked her away from the door. Her eyes surveyed the room around her, all of the figures staring back at her from their podiums or spots on the floor and she gasped when the rifle suddenly was knocked from her hand as if by an invisible force.

Delaney had only a brief moment to watch her gun slide across the shiny, wooden floorings before a body leapt onto her back, its arms wrapped tightly around her throat as she stumbled back from the force. She pushed back against the pillar nearby and knocked the body off, whipping around to see it was what looked like Gandhi behind her as he hopped back up to his feet, white toga wrapped tightly around his tiny frame. She circled around him with her fists raised as her only form of defense left before she was blind sided again by him, leaping onto her back and stumbling them.

Delaney tripped over her own footing and the two went flying backwards, crashing into the table behind them. They crashed through the wood, sending bits of wood flying this way and that along with the shattering of glass following as the dishes that had been neatly arrayed had crashed along with them. She rolled over to get to her knees so she could push back up to her feet just as Gandhi's spirit leapt onto her back again, arms back around her throat as he pulled.

The doors to the room banged open to reveal Theodore and he faltered at the sight of Gandhi on Delaney's back. He blinked rapidly a few times as his rifle remained raised. "Is — is that Gandhi? He's so . . . tiny . . . which is saying something since he's on you!"

"Asshole, instead of worrying about his size, how about you worry about getting his rabid ass off me?" Delaney snapped at Theodore, grunting as she tried to fight off the fighting Gandhi on her back. She choked as Gandhi wrapped his arms tighter around her throat, her hands coming up to try and pry them away as the air in her lungs became short. "Glasses. Burn — burn his g-glasses."

"Right, yeah," Theodore ran across the room, ripping the glasses from off the Gandhi figure. He threw them down into the nearby waste bin, tugging out the gasoline from his pocket and pouring some of it into the bin with the glasses before lighting a match and dropping it over the glasses. He turned back to Delaney just as Gandhi vanished as she fell back to her ass with a squeak of surprise. "Winchester, you couldn't have been a fan of someone cool? Really? Gandhi?"

"I'm fine. Thanks for fucking asking," Delaney remarked back at him, raising a hind to flip him off while Theodore merely rolled his eyes in response.

The next morning, Dean was set and ready to leave the town as they'd gotten rid of the hat, key ring and glasses from the museum. No other attacks had been mentioned since Delaney had been attacked by Gandhi and it didn't sit right with her. She felt as if there was still something there and she just couldn't figure out what it was. It was times like this she still wished she got the visions like she'd used to. At least then she could know what the hell was going on.

"You ready to blow this joint, Della?" Dean called out as Delaney stepped out of the bathroom with her toiletry bag in her hands. 

"Dean, does it not strike you as weird that Gandhi just . . . vanished? I mean, there was no screaming or big flare out or anything. That's not the way ghosts usually go," Delaney rambled, walking over to the beds where her brothers and Theodore stood with her eyebrows furrowed. "I  mean, I feel like he was trying to take a massive bite out of me. It was like he was hungry, but the thing is, Gandhi — or the real Gandhi — he was a . . . he was fruitarian."

Theodore licked his lips as his head ducked, laughter shaking his shoulders as he waved his hand to stop Delaney from her speech. "Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight, Laney. Your ultimate hero was not only a short man in diapers, but he was also a fruitarian? Oh, man, this is so fucking good. That is — even for you, that is good."

Delaney growled lowly in her throat as she tore her irritated gaze from a still laughing Theodore and over to her brothers. "Look, I'm just saying that I'm not so sure this thing is over, okay?"

"It was a ghost, Della. It was a weirdly supercharged fruitarian ghost," Dean responded, slapping his hands to his sides with a lazy shrug. "But it was still a ghost. Now let's go."

Delaney ticked an eyebrow as she crossed her arms, tongue dragging along her teeth in an annoyed way as her eyes lock on Dean. "So, first, you drag Sammy, Theo and I into town and now you're dragging us back out?"

"You — you ain't steering this boat, Delaney Elizabeth," Dean said sternly, pointing a finger in her direction as he slung his duffle bag over his shoulder with the other hand. "Let's go, Delaney. Chop chop."

Delaney rolled her eyes, exasperated with Dean's obvious coldness towards her. A complete one-eighty to the past few weeks where he'd relaxed a bit around her. Something had to set him off and she had no idea what it was, but she wasn't about to stand around and let him treat her as dirt either. "This isn't gonna work, Dean. You, me, Sammy — together. I thought it could, but obviously it can't if you're treating me like this."

"You're the one that wanted back in, Delaney," Dean argued, dropping the duffle bag to his feet as he knew that they wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. Not with Delaney's stubborn attitude.

"Me? I — I wanted back in?" Delaney repeated incredulously, pressing a hand to her flannel covered chest. "Me? If I remember correctly, Dean, you were the one that called me and told me to meet you. Where you then proceeded to hand me my gun and tell me you wanted me back with you. So . . . do explain how I said that I wanted back in?"

"You're really gonna try that with me, Delaney Elizabeth? Just because you might have forgotten what you did, the rest of haven't. Sorry that we still need a bit of trust-building before it can go back to how it was, Delaney."

Delaney glanced over to Sam who rolled his lips into his mouth and ducked his head, avoiding her gaze as he knew to stay out of this fight. Especially when, at the moment, he agreed with his brother, even though he definitely would have been a lot less harsh towards their baby sister. She poked her tongue into her cheek with a sarcastic nod. "Right, okay, and . . .  uh . . . how long do you expect to keep me on double-secret probation then?"

"Until I say so, Delaney. Get over it."

"Look . . . I know what I did. Or, at least, I know what I wound up falling into when it was too late. I am trying to climb out of that hole, Dean. I am, but you're not making it any easier."

"So, what, Delaney? Am I just supposed to let you off the hook here?" Dean retorted, crossing his arms to match her stance as he ticked an eyebrow. "What? Are Sammy and I supposed to pat you on the head and say it'll be okay? You're not fucking five anymore, Delaney Elizabeth. I'm not just gonna bandage your boo-boo and kiss it better. You can't kiss this fucking better, Delaney. The apocalypse is happening. Lucifer is out of Hell and is looking for your ass so he can possess it. Is all of this suddenly blanking on you?"

Delaney huffed and tugged a hand through her hair, groaning at Dean's words. "No, you can think whatever the fuck you want, Dean. I get it, okay? I deserve it and worse, I get it. Hell, you'll never punish me as much as the guilt inside me is. The point is, if we're all gonna be a team, it has to be a two-way street, Dean."

Dean eyed her for a long moment, as if processing what she'd just said to him as he squints his eyes at her. "So you just want it to go back to the way we were before?"

"No, because we were never that way before. Before didn't work. How do you think we got here? Dean, one of the reasons I even went off with Randy . . . was to get away from . . . um, you. It made me feel strong, like I wasn't just your baby sister that the demons could fling around just to get to you or Sammy."

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out as he lets out a sharp breath. His face falls into one of annoyance and slight anger. "You're not seriously blaming me for your shit, are you?"

"No, it's my fault. I'm just saying that if we're gonna do this, we have to do it differently. We can't just fall into the same rut. You're gonna have to let me grow up, Dean. You can't keep babying — " Delaney cut herself off as Dean's phone began to ring annoyingly in his jacket pocket and she threw her head back with a small groan.

Rolling his eyes irritatedly, Dean stuffed his hand into his pocket and yanked his phone back out, pressing it to his ear. He's stunned for a moment as his wide eyes bounce between Delaney, Sam and Theodore, exchanging a few yeahs with whoever was on the other end before he was ending the call, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. 

"So, Delaney, you were right about this not being over."

Delaney and Dean had both stepped back into their FBI suits, rushing their way over to the station where Rick had called Dean from. The tense air that had only grown thicker had barely been noticed as the two sped through the streets of the town and into the sheriff's station where Rick sat at his desk, looking slightly pale. "Rick, what happened?"

"I, uh, um . . . I don't know," Rick breathed out, gesturing to the interrogation room where two young women sat with each other, talking quietly. 

Dean barely let Rick finish talking before he skirted around Delaney and into the room with Delaney quickly following after him. He fixed up his jacket as he stepped into the room and stood before the table the two girls sat at, eyes red rimmed and still filling with unshed tears. "Hi, girls. We're with the FBI. Do you mind telling us what happened?"

"It was horrible," the girl to the right whimpered, her brown eyes dull and lacking any light as she looked up at the siblings. "I thought she'd be nice."

"She took Danielle!" the blonde next to her cried, shaking her head as she sniffled. "It was . . . Paris Hilton. She looked really good, though. Skinny and fast."

Delaney balked for a moment, rubbing a hand over her forehead as her brain throbbed beneath her skull. "I — okay. Where did they go?"

The girl on the right shakes her head as she chokes out another sob, face blotching with more tears. "We — we don't know. They just vanished."

"Would — would you excuse us for a second?" Dean flashed the girls a tight smile before he gripped Delaney's wrist and tugged her over to the corner of the room to talk to her in private for a second. "Della, we — we know that Paris Hilton isn't dead, right? I haven't missed any news?"

"Um, no. No, pretty sure she's still alive," Delaney mumbled, confused eyes flickering up to Dean. "That means this isn't . . . this isn't a ghost, Dean. What did we miss?"

"What do you want to do?"

Later that night, Delaney found herself back in the wax museum with Theodore, Dean and Sam. They had done some more research and even went so far as to pull out both corpses to see if anything was left behind inside of them. Both bodies just so happened to contain some kind of ancient, supernatural seed left behind by the entity Leshii. It was able to take form of anyone's favorite celebrity or historical figure and slowly feed off the person's soul, leaving a seed inside their belly's once they were dead. So, it lead to Delaney and the boys deciding to go back to the museum and get rid of it the only way they could: chopping its head off with an iron ax.

Delaney lead the way through the museum as she was the one with the flashlight, swinging the light this way and that as she and the boys made their way through the darkened museum. They stepped into a room that looked like the outside garden before the White House, another president wax figure placed at the entrance to the house. Before Delaney could took more than a steps forward, she noticed a girl tied up to the fake tree to her right and she quickly stopped the boys before rushing over to check the girl for a pulse. She let out a sigh of relief when the girl had a pulse as Dean asked her if the girl was still alive.

"Yeah, she's alive but barely. We gotta work fast."

Dean nodded, turning to search the rest of the area when his arm suddenly tugged up as if by an invisible force, the iron ax going flying out of his hand and catching into the other fake tree across from where he stood. He glanced around just as Paris Hilton popped before him, causing Sam and Theo to stumble back in shock while Paris swung her fists freely at Dean's face. 

Delaney growled, pushing away from the girl and charging at Paris. She veered her fist back and got a right hook into Paris' jaw, sending her head snapping back. However, Paris quickly recovered and kicked Delaney in her mid-section, sending her doubled over with a yelp of pain from the supernatural strength used. Paris then grabbed Delaney by the front of her jacket and sending her flying across the way, slamming into the pillar of the White House and going into darkness.

Delaney whined as a pounding radiated through her skull, her hands bound behind herself around the tree she'd been tied up to. Her eyes blinked opened and she lifted her heavy head to see Sam, Dean and Theodore tied up to trees surrounding her as the sound of a knife being sharpened could be heard to her right. She slowly turned her head to see Paris Hilton sat on a tree stump with a multitude of blades and knives strewn along the stump while she filed her nails on the massive blade in her hand. 

"Oooh, I am so glad you four are awake for this. This is gonna be huge," Paris grinned brightly at the four hunters, giggling to herself as she continued to use the blade as a nail filer. "I mean, I've been stuffing myself with fast food lately. So it's nice to do the ritual right. Prepare a nice slow meal for a change."

Delaney barked out a laugh, kissing her teeth as she glared at the celebrity entity before her. "Just like the good old days, huh?"

Paris flashed Delaney a fake pout as if mocking Delaney for her rudeness and tilted her head at her. "You have no idea, Baby Winchester. People adored me. They used to throw themselves at me, with smiles on their faces. However, no one even bats me another glance since they've cut down my forest to build a yugo plant."

"March of progress, sister," Dean replied gruffly, thumping his head back against the bark of the fake tree.

"For years now, I've been wandering," Paris continued as if Dean hadn't spoken at all, legs crossing over the other as she carries on filing her nails. "Hungry. Scared. Scrounging for scraps. So not sexy, but then . . . the best thing ever happened — little baby Winchester kick started the apocalypse. Then I thought, what the hell — I'm tired of watching what I eat. I want to pig out. So I found this little place. It's awesome. Adoring fans stroll right in the door."

Theodore raised his eyebrows at Paris as he made a noise of amusement. "Yeah, but they aren't fans of you. Just fans of whoever you're embodying. Sounds fake to me."

"Is fake," Delaney agreed, nodding along with Theodore as they both glare at Paris.

Paris simply rolled her eyes dismissively at the duo as he lays the blade down in her lap. "So? They worship Lincoln, Gandhi, Hilton. Whatever. I'll take what I can get. I mean, you people used to worship gods. But this?" She scoffed, gesturing to her form in distaste. "This is what passes for idolatry? Celebrities? What have they got besides small dogs and spray tans? You people used to have old-time religion. Now you have US Weekly."

Dean scrunched up his nose sarcastically and tilted his head side to side in thought. "I don't know. I'm more of a Penthouse Forum man, myself."

Paris hummed as she pushed to her feet, silvery, strappy heels clicking along the tile of the front of the white house, followed by the crunching of the fake grass as she strolled over to Dean. "Maybe, but . . . there's still a lot of yummy meat on those bones, boy."

"Well, I hate to break it to you, sister, but, uh . . . you can't eat me. See, I'm not a Paris Hilton BFF. I have never even seen House of Wax."

Paris smiled at that, giggling as she tilted her head at Dean as she placed her hands on her slim waist. "No, but I can totally read your mind, Dean. I know who your hero is. Your daddy. Am I right?" She chuckled when Dean's jaw clenched at the mention of John and she sharply turned on her heel to stalk over towards where the iron axe still remained wedged into the tree. "And this belonged to him. Didn't it? Poor little Dean. All you ever wanted was to be loved by your idol. One distant father figure, coming right up!"

Dean growled as he ripped his hands free of the ropes and charged at Paris, tackling her once in reaching distance of her. They both went sailing to the ground as Delaney tried to fight out of her bindings next to try and help Dean as he rolled around on the ground with Paris. The blonde quickly over powered Dean and got several hits into Dean's face and Delaney only fought harder against her bindings until she was stumbling forward from the force she was let go at. She stumbled over to the tree and yanked the axe free, gripping it tightly and swinging it like a bat as she swung it into Paris' neck. It sent the blonde onto her side and Delaney chopped at her neck, breaking through bone, cartilage and nerves as blood sprayed up into her face until Paris' neck was cut from her shoulders and the being was officially dead. 

"Don't you fucking dare, brat," Dean warned Delaney, pointing a finger at his baby sister who had turned to him with a bloody, amused grin; her eyes dancing with mischief.

"Dee, you got totally laid out by a hundred pound girl," Delaney laughed, doubling over as her hands placed to her knees and eyes squeezed shut in genuine laughter. "Holy shit. You — you got beat by Paris fucking Hilton."

"Ugh, shut up, you fucking brat."

The next morning, the Winchesters and Theo were finally able to officially make their way from the town. They had all quickly packed up their stuff the second they were all awake and showered and made their way towards the Impala while Dean spoke to Rick on the phone , getting the last bit of information he could on the girls attacked by Paris Hilton. He hung up the phone with a quick goodbye to the man before he turned to the trio that walked beside him to the Impala.

"So, Danielle is going to be alright. She has sworn off the simple life . . . but other than that . . . "

"Glad she's okay," Delaney finished for Dean, nodding along with him as she hiked her bag higher up onto her shoulder. 

Dean snorted and dug in his jacket for the Impala keys as they neared it. "Ha, it gets better — Rick is putting out an APB on Paris Hilton. That ought to be good." He stopped near the trunk and turned the key in it, propping it open so the four could toss their duffles inside so they could move on to the next place that needed them. Once everything was inside and Theo and Sam made their way into the car, he stopped Delaney before she could turn and round the car to get in beside Theo. "Hey, baby girl, I was thinking about what you said yesterday — about me keeping too tight of a leash on you. Maybe . . . maybe you're right. I mean, look, me nor Sammy are exactly Mr. Innocent when it comes to this mess, either. You know, I alone broke the first seal."

Delaney shook her head, eyebrows furrowing as she allowed Dean to keep a loose grip around her wrist. "Dee, you didn't — you didn't know."

"Yeah, well, neither did you," Dean reminded her, voice and eyes soft as he looked at her; the old Dean with her shining through as if they were back to before Delaney even knew about the supernatural. "I am not saying that falling into the demon blood trap was a good way to go, but you did kill Lilith. Sure, it started the apocalypse, but none of us knew that would happen. I mean, who would have thought killing Lilith would have been a bad thing? Point is, I was so worried about watching your every move that I didn't see what it was actually doing to you, Della. So, for that, I'm sorry."

Delaney smiled faintly at Dean, nodding her head in appreciation of his words as he cups her face and kisses her forehead affectionately. "Thanks, Dee."

Dean pulled away from his sister, dropping his hands back to his sides as his eyes scan around the area around them. "Where do we even go from here?"

"The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this thing. Maybe I am on deck for Lucifer and maybe the same with you and Sammy with Michael and Zedkiel. Maybe there's no changing any of those, but we can stop wringing our hands over all of it. We got to just grab on to whatever is in front of us. Kick its ass and go down fighting like we've always done up until this point. Hell, we have Theo here now, too. We have an extra hand in helping us through this with as much knowledge in any lore book thanks to Bobby helping raise him, right? We can do this."

Dean juts out his bottom lip in thought as he weighs with Delaney said with a low hum. "Yeah, see, I can get on board with that plan."

Delaney rolled her shoulders at that and exhaled heavily as her eyes that matched Dean's flickered up to his. "But, Dee, we have to be on the same level to do this."

Dean squinted against the sun as he eyed Delaney for a long moment, eyes scaling around her face as if searching for something. "I — okay, yeah. You got it, baby girl. Same level." He offered her his best attempt of a smile as he glanced around them again. "What do you say we get the hell out of here?"

"Ugh, I thought you'd never ask," Delaney groaned in response, earning a chuckle from Dean but he stopped her before she could get far. She raised her eyebrows at him as he dangled the Impala keys in her face and she narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. "Is this a test? Are you testing me?"

"What — no. I — I just . . . I could use a nap, you know? Thought you might wanna drive," Dean offered, keeping the keys dangled in Delaney's face as her eyes bounced between his face and the metal dangling round his finger. "I could very well take it — "

"Think the fuck not," Delaney squealed, taking the keys from him before he could snatch them back and she grinned, backing up towards the driver's side. "You, sir, have been demoted to passenger. Unfortunate."

Dean rolled his eyes fondly at Delaney's suddenly brightness and followed after her towards the Impala, everything finally settling down. At least for the moment.

AUTHORS NOTE

Long time no update, babies! You have no idea how much I missed Delaney and I cannot wait to get into the rest of this season. 'tis gonna be wild.