Salt 'Em And Burn 'Em

"37 Birdridge Road," Clicking the page open, a frown flickered across Sam's features, "Apparently, forty-odd years ago, a man named Jonathan Williams lived there-Nice guy, pretty wife, the works. One day, he finds out his wife is being unfaithful and takes down the old hunting rifle from his wall-Well, you can guess what happens," He murmured. "Well, he then takes the rifle and kills himself off too-Probably didn't want to get caught, or maybe a bit regretful," Reaching out, he picked up his glass of water, taking a sip before strolling down the page a bit more then closing the laptop carelessly.

"After that, every time a couple moves into the house, as soon as that date comes around, the ghosts possess their bodies, and use them to relive their death-She cries about how she didn't mean it, and he finds the old hunting rifle and kills her and himself," Sam sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his temples.

"Trouble is, both were cremated-And I'm guessing, the one thing tying them there-Is the rifle. But nobody knows where it is. Every time they find the bodies, they search for the murder weapon and find nothing," He frowned, "It's gotta be hidden around the house, ghosts who haunt an area can't leave it without a body, and they never take a body outside the house-And we don't exactly have a good time limit to find it, there's a new couple in the house, just in time for the anniversary-It's tomorrow," He sighed.

Sometimes Sam couldn't help but realize just how last minute their hunts really were. You'd think you'd find out about these things a month or two before they were about to come to play, but no, they found out the day before, only thanks to a quick call from Bobby, if it weren't for the call, those two would probably already be dead and there would be no hunt, only a couple of body bags and a clean up crew. He shuddered at the thought, he wasn't particularly fond of dead bodies, though he'd seen enough in his time.

"Well?" He questioned, looking over towards his older brother with a questioning look. As much as he hated being told what to do, he was also not the leader type-It just didn't come with being a little brother, he wasn't born to tell people what to do, and that was fine. He could deal with that. Taking another sip from his water he gave a short frown, glancing towards the window searchingly, he could have sworn someone was there. Lately it felt like someone was watching them. Or, watching over them? Dean wouldn't believe him, think Sam was being neurotic or something.

He had to agree though, he didn't think the Angel's would take time out of their busy schedules to watch them work on a case like this one. Besides, he wasn't exactly fond of the Angel's, so far as he could tell, they were self-righteous, and merciless. He'd expected something different, but thinking about it, what people preached and what was actually in the Bible were two different things, and if he skimmed back through, he'd probably realize he was romanticizing them.

+

Bright blue eyes stared wearily at the small hotel room, and with an unnoticed movement, the male shifted his arms to cross his chest, settling onto a park bench a few miles away, a thoughtful expression playing across his features. Castiel couldn't blame the Angel's for thinking he was getting too 'involved' with his job. He'd been ordered to watch over Dean, yes, that was true. But not so relentlessly, and obviously, not so physically.

He could have perched up with the rest of them and kept an eye open, but in all honesty, he wasn't particularly fond of the other Angels, not since he'd seen some of the work they were doing lately. Indeed, some of it seemed 'over the top', or too cruel to be the word of God, but he didn't have any room for doubt. No, whatever ends his Father was looking to achieve would be reached no matter how dim the orders seemed at times.

Just considering it made him sigh. He shouldn't think anything but the best of his Father. He didn't have to like the other Angel's, but just a glimmer of doubt was enough to send him in the direction of the 'great betrayer' himself, and Castiel wasn't interested in that sort of ending.

His eyes brushed about the area with all the innocence of a child, taking in the world for the first time. Indeed, it was beautiful, the most beautiful thing he'd seen of God's creations, this 'Earth' and it's people were remarkable, so intelligent, and so capable of many things, emotions and expressions. Even their intelligence and need to create things made him curious.

The wind played against his skin and he shivered, such a human reaction, one he wasn't familiar with, but accepted. It wasn't wise to question these things, as he'd found when he asked what had happened when he'd 'yawned' and the lady in question scurried off quickly leaving him far too confused.

Standing back up, he wandered towards the hotel, scratching a hand through his hair before appearing inside, standing beside the bed and causing Sam to jump.

"You guys really like sneaking up," Sam complained, catching his breath as he glanced at the Angel.

Though Dean Winchester was animatedly eating his cheeseburger, his ears were zeroed in on his brother's voice. He thought over every word, only breaking his concentration once or twice to scratch at his neck. It sounded very cut and dry; the standard man-murders-wife-and-they-haunt-the-house-where-they-died case, with a slight twist coming from the disappearing murder weapon. What they had to do was simple, albeit it how they were going to go about it was slightly more complicated.

“Man kills his broad, and they haunt the house—possessing the couples that move in and reenacting their deaths. Got it. So, I'm guessing we travel over there in time to keep man and wife from having death does 'em part.” Dean smiled and took a deep drink of his soda, frowning inwardly at the rapidly lessening amount inhabiting the cup. “While we're there, we can play counselor, get the weapon...then salt 'n burn that bad boy. Case closed.” With a triumphant smile, he finished off his cheeseburger and wiped his hands together to rid them of Sesame seeds. “I don't think this'll be a tough case. I can only see it being a pain in the ass if we don't get to the weapon in time.” If that happened, Dean assumed they would search the property high and low. Worst come to worst, Dean could see himself torching the house and then peeling out of that town. If that didn't get the job done, he didn't know what would.

Dean rose to his full height, feeling content with the decent meal he had just scarfed down and the absence of anything supernatural from his peaceful evening, and stretched until he could no longer take the pulling on his limbs, exposing a taut, tanned chest and a soft, dirty blond happy trail creeping from his navel to his groin. As his body arched, locking in a beautifully relieving position that cracked joints loudly enough for Sam to stare, he felt the eyes. Felt the eyes traveling over his frame, assessing his strengths and weaknesses. It was an odd sensation, one akin to standing on a stage, naked, blinded by the stage lights. Not that the thought of being naked on a stage frightened Dean Winchester, but the thought of being dissected as he felt he was made his skin crawl. The urge to run to the door and call out into the darkness crept up on Dean.

It would do any good though, Dean mused to himself as he threw away his trash. This city is pretty low on the supernatural. The only thing remotely demonic is that haunted house. The eyes belong to a God-damned angel. The thought alone made Dean groan to himself. Were they always going to be creeping around? This case didn't seem very major, especially not seal-worthy. Maybe they were just “watching over them”, as Sam always put, but Dean deemed it more “creeping and-or stalking” rather than “watching over”. Nonetheless, Dean didn't enjoy it. Why couldn't restraining orders work on the “holy”?

He laid back on the motel bed that would, at least for this week, be his. The thought of angels watching them was almost as bad as demons watching them. Actually, it might be just as bad, if not worse. Dean assessed the pros and cons of angels watching them rather than demons.

The angels, as far as Dean could tell, were stiff jerks who cared little about the world around them. They spited human beings and had epic superiority complexes against them. Between Zachariah, Uriel and Castiel, it was almost like talking to a brick wall, each of the angels they had been introduced to thus far unchangeable and, ironically enough, graceless in their worldly tactics. They were sly and had ulterior motives—or at least Zach and Uriel did, slippery bastards.

Demons, on the other hand, were usually straightforward. They wanted Satan to rise, and for the hunters to die. And to get rid of them, all Dean had to do was kill 'em. Angels were a lot harder to get rid of. Dean didn't even know how to go about killing an angel. Was that a sin, too? It posed an interesting question.

He pushed the eyes from his mind, closing his own as he braided his fingers together and laid them under his head. So what if they're watching? Dean mused. If they kept their distance from him and his work, and only popped in to tax him once or twice, Dean could live with it.

Unfortunately, the angels enjoyed taxing him. At the faint fluttering of wings that coined an angel's arrival, and the start of his brother, Dean's eyes reluctantly opened. “Didn't your Father ever tell you not to sneak, Cas?” he huffed. “What're you guys doin' here? This is hardly seal-breaking territory. It's an open and shut case. Did you miss us?”

"I didn't sneak," Castiel stated, inclining his head only slightly to the side and surveying the two with a confused expression beneath the stoic mask he wore. He'd begun to realize that Human language was far more confusing than it seemed. He knew what each word meant, but apparently there was some unofficial language Human's used occasionally, but he'd learnt not to question it anymore.

"I thought you had noticed my presence, and I thought it might be more comfortable if you could see me."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the truth. They had noticed, and the thought had occurred to him, but it was no where near the reason he'd decided to show up.

Heaven was alight with life, and upon the amount known to man, there was a vast number more of Angels. Before this task had begun, he'd been surrounded by life, and despite his prior dislike towards the company of other Angels, he found he missed it now that they looked upon him like a plague. He'd seen this before, before Anna had fallen. The way they acted as though touching her would cause them to doubt as well, but they couldn't know. He'd never worded his doubts, only once-And he doubted Dean was on speaking terms with other Angels to inform them of this.

To be completely honest, he missed the company, and could describe it only in one word; Loneliness.

But of course, he wouldn't say it. He would impose upon them, make them uncomfortable, as he was sure they got around him, he wasn't after all, Human. And keep his silence, but he wouldn't tell them that. To speak it would make it real, make him realize just how far he'd fallen already, and realize the smallest steps could take him over that boundary and condemn him.

Sam raised a brow as Castiel fell silent, he was sure the Angel didn't realize it was unnerving, but with or without knowing it, it was by far one of the stranger things about the other man. That aside from the whole 'Angel of the Lord' thing, no that took the cake. After a moment, he shrugged his shoulders, "I guess," He murmured, feeling unease set into him when the Angel looked at him. It was that same look Uriel gave him. The same look that said they knew.

He swallowed, but dismissed the uncomfortable feeling. No, he wasn't going to let it get to him. They had work to do. "Well-Dean?" He questioned, glancing over at his brother, waiting for his opinion. He wasn't about to tell the Angel to get out, it wasn't like he had much to do with Castiel that allowed him to do that.

He was long since over the eager way he'd greeted the Angels, but he wasn't about to tell one to piss off.

To be totally frank, Dean had a passion for busting Castiel's balls. Out of all of the angels he had met, Castiel was by-far the most innocent, and seemingly the only one that actually gave a damn about the human race. Sometimes, Dean chose his words just to give the other male the run-around. Secretly, Dean reveled in the quirks of the head the angel's borrowed meat-suit offered at something that wasn't understood.

"Where I come from, it's called 'sneaking'. I don't think it's called that where you come from. It's natural for you angels to creep about." Dean sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, turning his head from Sam to Castiel whenever each respective party spoke. Between his legs sat his hands, his fingers absently fiddling with the inseams of his jeans. "You're right, though. I'm much more comfortable with you being in here, where I can see you." Less chance for you to be a creepy angel-thing, Dean thought, smiling inwardly. Oh, how he loved it. "I prefer you sneaking around to Zach and Uriel. Those guys give me the heebie-jeebies.

“Speaking of your friends, where are they tonight? Hopefully far away.” The human offered a smile to the angel, grinning a Cheshire smile before turning to address his brother. He looked a little shaken up by Castiel's sudden appearance. His eyes flipped from Dean to the angel rapidly for a minute, watching, dissecting their little conversation. It was amusing how Sam went from welcoming the angels to skirting around them, and how Dean went from annoyance to general indifference to an off-brand type of comfort around the angel before him.

"Uh, Cass. We're researching a case at the moment. Jonathan Willhelm," Dean began.

"Williams," Sam corrected.

With a roll of his eyes, Dean amended himself and carried on. "Standard case. Killed his wife for cheating then offed himself. Now they haunt the house. Blah, blah, blah. Anniversary of their death, they haunt the current residents and do it all over. Blah, blah, blah. Murder weapon, his rifle, goes missing. Blah, blah, blah." He sat back down on his bed and looked up at the angel, green eyes meeting blue without hesitation. "Are we missing anything?"

"Uriel and Zacharias are elsewhere, performing orders of their own," Castiel didn't admit that he didn't know what they were doing, or where they were. It wasn't in his right to question the higher ups, and tended to be frowned upon. He listened without question as the other male spoke, "I don't think so, it sounds as if you two have it sorted out," He responded, standing there for a moment before Sam let out an uncomfortable sigh.

"Would you sit-Or something," He suggested, Castiel seeming confused for a moment before taking the request and settling himself on one of the chairs at the table, staring out the window in a distracted manner. Sam raised a brow for a moment before dismissing it. He'd rather not ask what Angel's thought about in their spare time.

After awhile of the silence, Sam cleared his throat and went back to work, finding it hard to talk about anything in front of the other. Dean wasn't the one they were threatening to 'stop', he couldn't have understood how uncomfortable the moment was. Typing away at the laptop, he glanced up between Dean and Castiel every now and then, "Well-I guess the only thing to do is to go there and find the gun before someone gets hurt," He shrugged, aiming his conversation at Dean, "It could be anywhere in that place-The easiest way would be to let the ghost possess someone and go for the gun-But then we'd only have a few moments to stop him, and that could be a bit risky..." He spoke, hoping he wasn't talking to himself.

Castiel tuned Sam out, staring outside with a blank expression on his vessels face before letting a quiet sigh escape him, knitting his brows together before turning back to the other two with a questioning expression.

"What are heebie-jeebies?" He asked.

Sam allowed a short chuckle to escape him, the question seemed stupid, but at least it broke the silence. "Uh-It's sort of like...When you get creeped out?" He struggled, getting to his feet and walking over toward the fridge, getting himself a drink and glancing at the other two questioningly, "Drink?" He offered.

"No," Castiel answered, shaking his head, obviously still pondering this new information.

With a small, amused smile, Dean watched Sam and Castiel interact. They both seemed uncomfortable with each other, the weight of the news against Sam on his shoulders and the struggle to deal with being on earth in a human's body resting on the angel's.

It reminded Dean of a Animal Planet show he had flipped through one lazy afternoon, about animals having their habitats changed. The animals crept around each other, not really doing anything as they assessed their new surroundings. They danced around each other, much like Sam danced around the angels and their ominous words of him becoming the vessel to Satan. Dean imagined Sam and Castiel in the show. He laughed quietly to himself, earning an off look from his brother.

Castiel's new surroundings were completely different and human interaction was irregular, the change certainly more severe than Sam's. But Sam had grown accustomed to the hunter's life, living with only Dean for company. Castiel was a common occurrence and, though welcomed by Dean nine times out of ten, Sam's reactions were less than open. Dean reckoned that his brother would never really be comfortable around the angels, but, on the whole, Dean didn't blame him. He was comfortable around Castiel, as much as he could be. The angel pulled him out of Hell and, though cryptic at times, he tried to meet Dean on his own level. Dean respected that.

"I was thinking the same thing. We have to act fast, though. Really fast. Like Wile E. Coyote fast. But we're not gonna fail." The responses he was dealing amused him. The taller male rolled his eyes, but, despite himself, he smiled to inwardly, obviously thankful for Dean's normalcy under the awkward conditions of Castiel's visit.

At Sam's offer, Dean perked up a little, turning to his brother as he answered, "Yeah. Do we have any beer left?" As his brother moved to search through the little fridge, mumbling, Dean was sure of it, about his brother's beer intake, Dean looked over at the angel and his puzzled expression. "'Heebie Jeebies' first appeared in a comic from the early 1900's, and caught on really fast."

Returning to his laptop after handing Dean his beer, Sam shot a look at his brother. "How did you know that? That's not something I expect you to know."

Dean rolled his eyes, flipping off the lid and chucking it elsewhere. "Random television. I retain the weirdest, coolest information sometimes." Done with his little tangent, the elder Winchester turned to the angel. "So...are you just here to chill or what? You doin' rounds on us?"

Castiel glanced up briefly, facing the elder Winchester with a curious look, though he let the question die on his lips. He didn't think 'chill' was exactly what he assumed it meant, and it was better not to question this sometimes. He was supposed to be all knowing, and powerful, but on Earth, he barely had half of his powers and his understanding was loweredexponentially.

He darted out his tongue to wet his lips, strange the Vessel always seemed so unhealthy, though he probably was to blame. Angels didn't need sustenance, apparently the Vessel did. Pondering this, he finally decided to address the question. This was probably another of those 'weird' quirks he had, going off on a tangent and leaving other people behind without so much as a warning. Admittedly, it was also a quirk he had around the Angels, apparently they didn't think over their actions as much as he did, assuming everything they did must be of Holy requirement or such.

"I wanted to make sure you two were okay," He answered in his dry voice, "If I'm intruding, I can leave," He offered, looking between them with a curious look in his eyes which never truly seemed to die out. Everything about people was curious, the things they did, the way they spoke, or moved. The way that things they said were never truly what they meant to say. Castiel was no stranger to lying, but Angels had a different means to it, simply twisting and turning words, or leaving a fact out completely. Lying wasn't a sin, but it wasn't praised either.

"We're fine," Sam answered with a careless shrug, opening his bottle and swallowing down a few mouthfuls with a grateful sigh, placing the bottle on the bedside table and settling back against the backboard, resting the laptop on his knees and glancing over at Dean before shrugging his shoulders, "I guess it doesn't bother me," He responded, the Angel relaxing somewhat at this, before he'd been sitting uptight and aware, now he seemed somewhat more comfortable, at least he was easier to deal with that way, although, he was wearing that look Sam recognized within a second.

The look that said he wanted to say something, but the words weren't coming. It was clear he wasn't here on orders, the Angels never ordered someone over to have a normal 'chat' with them, it just didn't seem right, but he didn't question it. He knew he and Castiel were all but friends.

Castiel glanced off distractedly, bringing up a hand and ruffling it through his hair in a sign of frustration, he probably didn't even know he was doing it, the display was all too human for him.

As Sam spoke the reply to Castiel's question, Dean nodded his head softly in agreement. Though he sometimes gave the angel a hard time, Dean wasn't totally opposed to him being there. He had come around a lot, usually bearing news that was less than desirable, and Dean had gotten over the initial turbulence of it all. Castiel was cute in the sense that a child was cute, learning the ropes with a bit of difficulty. The need to pull him under his wing and teach him all that he knew was compelling, though Dean figured Sam would be less than crazy about the idea.

"Nah, you're cool, Cas. Just seein' if something was up or going down. You're fine to just sit here with us, if you want. Sammy'll get adjusted, I swear." He met Sam's eyes with a cheery smile. His eyes drifted from Sam's face to the laptop, and he gestured to the machine before asking, "Anything comin' up? Can you find the blueprints to the house? That'd give us somewhere to start."

Getting comfortable, Dean noticed the gesture and Castiel's glazed expression. "Something on your mind, Cas?" he asked, taking a swig of his beer. "No question is stupid, unless it's a stupid question."

"That's stupid," Sam huffed quietly.

Dean mocked his brother and rolled his eyes. "You're stupid," he retorted. "Find anything?"

The taller Winchester nodded and straightened up a bit, brown hair falling into his eyes before he pushed it away. "It's an old house, but I think I may have found the link for its blueprints."

"Check for a basement or an attic. Or, like, a den. I'm guessing the rifle disappears to somewhere the husband spent a lot of time in," Dean pitched.

Sam silently agreed, clicking the link and glimpsing over the blueprints. Skimming over it a bit, he frowned, "This isn't going to make it easy-There's an Attic, a Basement, a workshop, and a study," He snorted, "Apparently he spent quite a bit of time reading and doing wood works-Though, the Attic and the Basement are also the general places people keep firearms," He murmured, taking another mouthful from his bottle and setting it down again.

"To make matters worse-They're at four points of the house, meaning we're going to have to check each one out until we find the gun-And do it quickly," He spoke in a short tone of complaint. He was entitled to it. When was somebody ever eager to run back and forth, looking for a gun in some haunted house, while the ghost is ready to blow his and his wife's head off. Never. That's when.

Castiel glanced up, a small surprise flitting through his features. Apparently he wasn't as good as he thought at keeping up some form of a mask. "No, I'm fine," He responded with ease. He wasn't about to talk about his problems, no, that would have been ridiculous. He was there to look after the Winchesters, not let them council him.

"You aren't going to look tonight?" He questioned, and Sam looked at him uneasily.

"We tried that. But apparently, the husband isn't too keen on strangers. They're a couple of shut ins, and when we asked to take a look around, he slammed the door," Sam murmured with an uncomfortable expression, "So, really the only way is to get in when they're possessed."

Shutting the laptop, Sam put it aside and stretched out on the bed comfortably, his arms propped beneath his head, and a yawn escaping him, "You'd think with the whole 'looming apocalypse' there'd be more difficult tasks-But, I dunno. Since the last seal-It's just been ordinary work," He murmured with a thoughtful tone.

Dean dismissed Castiel's shake-off, putting the blank expression that Castiel wore on the back burner. Though neither of them seemed to notice, Castiel could be a lot like Sam. Sam kept a lot of things to himself and disliked being provide anything but right, not to mention he disliked taxing people as a whole. But at the same time, he enjoyed learning new things. Both guys were shady as hell sometimes. Dean wouldn't have it any other way.

In another absent gesture, Dean rapped his knuckles against the wooden nightstand between the beds, ignoring the slight sting it brought to the flesh there. "Don't jinx us, Sammy. I'm enjoying our little break. What's one or two effortless cases here and there? It's not like we're doing nothing. Even one supernatural fuck off this planet is good for man-kind. Plus, we're not driving ourselves into the ground to find all of these seals and keeping them from being broken. Cas' angel friends are finding 'em and protecting some of them. when they need us, they'll call."

Sam bitch-faced at him a little, but his reply died in his throat. The younger Winchester shrugged his long shoulders, dismissing his brother's little speech.

"I say we break in. It's not like we've never done it before." Mockingly innocent, Dean smiled. Though it wasn't something Dean admitted left and right, breaking into houses and doing things unlawfully was thrilling. Especially when it ended in a ghost or demon expelled to Hell, or even better: dead. Gone for good. It was Dean's little way of revolting against the system; the less obvious, more private way to stick it to the man. Credit card fraud tended to be a little too noticeable; not ambiguous enough. But what's a hunter gonna do? "We have to check at least three floors. Why not take a peak tonight? Get the basement out of the way."

"That could work," Sam admitted, sure, he wasn't big on rule breaking. Despite this whole job revolving around it, he didn't have a particular liking towards it, but that was just his conscience speaking, and he had to lock that part out of him most of the time, after all, it had a lot of things to say about his 'relationship' with Ruby, and the particulars which came from it. Yes, it'd been awhile since he'd listened to the smarter portion of his brain. He knew it was right, that's what made it worse.

"You want to go tonight then," Sam murmured in a questioning tone. The answer was obvious, but Sam was still trying to convince his body it'd be running around in a haunted house in a little while, not getting some well needed rest. Pushing himself back up into a sitting position, he pushed the hair out of his face with a look of disappointment at the loss of his comfort. Ah well.

"C'mon then-Better get it over as soon as possible," He decided, shifting to his feet and stretching his arms over his head, glancing back towards Castiel.

"You won't need my help. I'll stay here," Castiel responded to the unspoken question, managing to seem nonchalant about it. Sam almost wished he'd allow them the luxury of asking before he answered, but he wasn't about to say it. He'd probably get some response about how it saves time, or something.

Picking his jacket off the back of a seat, he slid it on over his shoulders looking over at Dean expectantly, "Well?" Sam questioned in his tone that said 'hurry up already', or something along those lines. That was one thing that betrayed his usual 'nice' exterior, it was his impatience. But then, he'd rather be in bed then chasing some ghost rifle in the middle of the night after breaking into a couples home.

As Sam pranced about Dean's suggestion, the elder male downed his drink, shuffling through his thoughts. What did they know about this guy, Williams? Not much, other than the fact that he went off the deep-end. They had searched for hours on anything about the man. There wasn't a shred of information about the man's personality or general aspect of life, just that he found his wife cheating and the camel's back broke. All that they had accumulated was that he was well off, he hunted in his spare time, he was a fairly decent guy, and he, seemingly, had a shit-ton of hobbies. Dean made a mental note to come back to the motel after their little inspection and Google the hell out of Jonathan Williams. He wanted to see what the man did, if he had a record at all. Not to mention, he was going to tear the internet up, looking for any information to help them out.

Impatience was, sadly, a trait that passed from Winchester to Winchester. Whereas Sam was eager to get this done, Dean was eager for him to stop complaining and deal with it like a hunter. As Dean had said earlier, the case was fairly open-and-close. He had no doubt that they could finish this all in the alloted time. To shut his brother up, Dean bitch faced him as he shimmied into his own jacket, the worn leather cool to the touch.

"We'll see you later, Cas," Dean mumbled, inclining his head to the angel as he fingered the keys in his pocket and stepped out of the motel. "Someone needs to take their Midol," whispered Dean as he climbed into the Impala, pleased with himself that Sam didn't seem to notice.

The drive to Birdridge Road was relatively quiet, spare the Kansas cassette that steadily churned out music. Dean drummed against the wheel, Sam stared out the window and quietly directed his brother until they reached the intersection between Birdridge and Broad. Dean parked the car a ways from house number 37, knowing good and well if the current owner saw their less than inconspicuous Impala that he would be running for the hills. The current owner seemed rubbed the wrong way by the brothers, Dean had noticed. Maybe he was just grouchy, or maybe the house had mood-altering properties because of Williams. Dean dismissed it as the former, labeling the man as "PMS-y" without another thought.

After a quick dig in the trunk of the Impala, the boys walked stoically to the rear of the house. There was an old-fashion basement entrance protruding from the earth, introducing a stairwell to the basement. Through the handles of the doors rested an ancient looking lock and chain set, rust setting into the bonds, fading the dark brown to a rustic orange. Sam watched his brother kneel and fiddle with the lock-pick set and the lock, turning the large metal bond in his hand this and that way until he heard a soft clicking noise. Something told Sam that should have been more difficult, but he simply shrugged his shoulders and followed his brother.

There was a faint smell of mold, but the walls felt dry as Dean dragged his free hand down them in his descent. In his hand rested a long, sleek black flashlight, its twin in Sam's hand, and they turned them on in tandem. Dean's light sought out the right side as Sam's sought out the left.

"Finding anything?" Dean whispered. Nothing. Just a small workshop that looked like it hadn't been touched in years. To be safe, he went through the drawers, fingertips ghosting over screwdrivers and nails. "This looks like a normal workshop, but I'll keep looking."

Once or twice Sam sneezed. So much for keeping themselves quiet, but it wasn't his fault that the room was coated in at least a centimeter of dust. Turning the light of his torch on each inch of the room, he scanned it with a frown, it seemed like the place hadn't been touched in far too long, and he wondered vaguely if the new owners had ever entered the basement before.

Swallowing, he continued on his way. God, this place smelt. It was like a damp sort of a smell, wet and rotting. The walls explained that though he thought the smell was far too strong for that to be the only thing. He ventured onwards, noticing the small footprints along the floor that said the room hadn't been completely empty. Rats. Gross. It was hard to think that he would have rather run into the ghost rather than a rat, but then ghosts weren't teeming with diseases. He shuddered, okay, maybe he had a slight rat phobia.

His torch fell on a small patch of wall, completely different from the rest. A make shaft sealant in a square around it, that suggested the area had been replaced, or had been a door. Brushing the torch light over it, he lowered his gaze to the ground and then he knew why he'd had an eerie feeling when he'd entered the room.

"Dean..." He spoke slowly, the light exposing hand prints in the dust beside the small patch of wall, finger nail scrapings, like something had been dragged into the area before it had been sealed. Walking over, he crouched and inspected the nail scrapes with a frown, "I don't get it-Nothing human could have left these in the floor," He murmured, the floor was concrete, and even under stress, if a human were to do this, there'd be skin, or a fingernail. "You don't think ghosts did...?" He murmured thoughtlessly, bringing the light back up to the wall and knocking against it, a hollow sound echoing back.

Damn. They should've brought the crow bar from the car.

[Sorry this reply took so long! I had a research paper to cram into my life yesterday before the internet cut off. 3:]

Great. A potentially creepy, sealed-off room. Potentially, as it just might be there to cover a hole in the wall, or it might be there to hide away a spare room. Whether Williams had done the remodeling or another owner had, Dean wouldn't hazard the faintest guess. Upon seeing the nail marks in the cement, Dean's thoughts were swayed more towards Williams' being the one ho put it there.

The hunter crouched down beside his brother, directly next to the nail marks, and ran his fingers over the floor's imperfections. The concrete was sharp and cold against the tips of his fingers. He applied a little bit of pressure in attempt to break off a little peak of cement. Nothing. Dean groaned. "Definitely sketchy. Maybe when Williams caught his old lady cheating, they were laying concrete? What do you think about him shooting his wife, but she's not dead and he decides to take her down to the little room in the basement? Maybe she clawed through it? And then when she finally died, he couldn't take it, so he moved her, sealed up the room and then offed himself? But that leaves a hell of a lot of gaps."

He stood up and continued to search the room, mumbling to his brother to join him in looking for something to pry off the drywood. The light bathed a a bookshelf in the corner, and Dean moved towards it. On it were miscellaneous tools and objects, reminding Dean of numerous cases that they had worked. The one that was fresh on his mind involved the Ghostfacers and their pal Corbett, the young kid head over hills for Ed. He wrinkled his nose and frowned as he pushed through a pile of hammers and other tools. "Hey, maybe we can use these tools to pry it off?" he suggested, picking up a few flat-head screw drivers.

"Who knows," Sam shrugged, "But it definitely looks suspicious," He murmured, getting to his feet fully, and on Dean's mention, wandering towards the tools and picking out a few, crouching down near the lower part of the wall and going to work. After the nails were removed the sealant was dealt with, each chip at it causing the humid smell to increase in the room, at one point having Sam dry gagging, but he wasn't about to stop. They'd seen some crap things in their time, but surely a dead body wouldn't be any where near the worst.

After a few more moments of it, the patch of wall shifted, and Sam cringed, "There's something pressing against it," He murmured, holding it back with one hand and staring at Dean questionably, he wasn't sure whether he particularly wanted to know what it was. Getting to his feet, holding onto the portion of wall, he drew back and released his hold, the wall crumbling down, as well as seven or eight bodies, and the smell swarmed the room.

"Ugh-" Sam groaned, stepping back for a minute to catch his breath, "You don't think these are the wives.." He grimaced. Now that wasn't a nice thought. He thought the article said the first wife had been cremated. Though, glimpsing through, there seemed not to be any bodies that would've been around for long enough to be here.

(I got brain blocked x.x)

All the while Dean worked with Sam to rid the wall of its offbeat piece of drywall covering, Dean prayed to any and all of the gods he didn't believe in for this to be a trivial piece of drywall covering nothing out of the blue. But as the smells got stronger and stronger, Dean's teeth pressing into his lips hard enough to draw blood as to keep the smells from becoming tastes, Dean knew he wasn't going to get that reprieve.

"Demons I get...but people are crazy," he groaned, backing away from the pile of carcases. "How does someone live here without noticing this? Do they not smell any of the decomposition? It smelt like ass just walking down here." For a few moments, Dean stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the outside world, attempting futilely to flush the smell out of his lungs with this fresh air. "I thought you said they found the bodies after the husbands killed them both. Why are they here then? Do these bodies even pertain to our case?" He flipped quickly through his thoughts, trying to recall every detail he had been told. Had the reports been false? Had the missing wives been left out? Or was something else at work here? "I don't know what to think. I don't think this is seal-worthy but—God, it smells so bad down here—should we get Cas?"

[I'm getting it, too. Haha. We'll work through this. >:{D I like our role-play already.]

"They said they found the bodies. Maybe we should check the graves-" Sam suggested, bringing a hand up to cover his nose with a distasteful groan, "This is sick," He complained, stepping back from the mess and moving to the other side of the room. The bodies were new and old, some of them covered in slight parts of dirt. "Dean," He murmured, trudging back to the bodies and looking regretful as he picked some of the dirt off, gagging slightly and moving back to inspect them before leaning into the portion in the wall.

"Maybe they were buried-There's dirt on them, but I can't see any dirt around here..." He frowned, furrowing his brows and taking a look around once more, "Far as I can tell, it's all concrete," He swallowed, wiping the dirt off on his pants. "Yeah-Any other opinion would go over well-Cause this...I don't get this," He cringed, reaching for his phone and dialing the hotel room.

"Cas?"

"Yes...?"

"Can you come meet us?"

"...Where are you?"

"37 Birdridge Road-...Basement," Sam added, hearing the phone go dead on the other line, and with that soft sound of wings, the other Angel was there, staring peculiarly at the pile of bodies.

"...I thought you said you shouldn't be breaking in here?" He asked curiously, wandering towards the bodies, as if the smell didn't daunt him in the least and staring at them closely, "This...You have to stop this ghost, Dean," He demanded, standing upright with a frown.

"What's wrong?"

"And so the death duth rise, and the lives of the living from which they steal would never find heaven," He quoted.

"This is a seal?"

(There xD The quote is most definitely NOT in the bible, but I was too lazy to go look for a real one xP)

The hunter nodded absently and sat down on a step. He rubbed his neck as he mulled over what to do next. This was a seal, and going on how it was undetected by the angels, he guessed that it was going to be harder than they had presumed. This also meant that they would need to burn these rotting corpses. Dean rose to his feet, less than happy about having a seal-case on his hands instead of the typical haunted house.

"What about the husbands? Were they buried like the report says?" He stepped towards the bodies, minding where his feet fell. The smell got stronger with each fraction of an inch he moved, but he wanted to investigate. Again he stepped gingerly towards the bodies, eyes crawling over the bodies in varies stages of decay. He wanted to get to the room, itself, and check for anything else that might pop up. But with the bodies acting as a makeshift barricade, one he was too disgusted despite himself to move around, it seemed like he wouldn't be able to. "I...God, I hate myself for this, but, Sam, we need to move some of these bodies. I want to look back there. What if there's even more to this?"

After a quiet argument about not wanting to touch the bodies, Dean managed to wrangle his brother into doing it. Dean took the hands of one woman, all of her flesh a parchment yellow and dying off fast, while Sam took the feet, and together they moved the woman away from the door. They repeated this several times, alternating between who took what in accordance to the body's position. They only stopped once, when one of the women lost an arm, most likely the last or second to last woman of the house to die. It came off in Dean's hand, the top of the body hitting the floor with a thud.

Instinctively, Sam dropped the body, himself. Her lower half hit the floor with a duller thud than the upper half, although most of the sound was muffled out by Dean's gagging. The limb was dropped quickly and Dean heaved himself up the stairs to find a bush to throw up in. There was dead skin on his palm, which he fervently wiped on the grass at his feet. Nasty shit was the name of the game, but that was nasty. The smell of rotten flesh was almost imprinted on his hand. It overpowered the vomit.

In a sluggish manner, Dean descended the stairs once more and wiped at his mouth. He felt groggy now, and the acid from the bile burned faintly in the back of his throat. Regardless, Dean silently instructed Sam to help finish the task.

With all of the bodies moved into a pile to the side, the pathway into the little room was open to enter, spare the pile of God knows what that had accumulated when the bodies fell to the floor. Dean stepped through it, keeping it far from his thoughts, and inspected the small room. The smell was the worst in here, perfumed thickly and mercilessly. He used his left arm to cover his mouth and inspected the walls and floor. There was dirt, as Sam had pointed out, but by the looks of it, two different types. One type was darker, like the kind of soil used to plant. Dark and rich. And the other was more orange, like clay.

"Where were the women buried at? If we find out that, we can go check their husbands. I have no doubts that, if the husbands were really buried, that they'll be in the lot one over from the supposed bodies of their wives." Dean wrapped his knuckles against the wall of the room, looking for any more suspicious looking places. It would be convenient as hell for there to be another room inside of this one, in which the rifle was hidden. But things weren't going exactly easy tonight. Nothing else unusual presented itself.

"This is really disgusting. I hate seals," he groaned loudly, climbing out of the room.

[W00T MUSE. >:{D]

Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd had to swallow down the urge to vomit over a smell alone, and the rotten flesh on his hands, well, that wasn't going to leave his mind easily. He'd be putting that down as one of the worst things they've seen. Not the worst-That...Well, he didn't even want to have to think about that.

He glanced up as Dean reappeared and made the remark, "I can get the grave sites on the computer when we get back," He decided, wiping his hands on his jeans. God, he was going to have to change, and have a shower when he got back, that smell better leave, else their night wouldn't be pleasant at all. Wandering forward, he crouched down and grasped a bit of the orange clay between his fingers, smeering it between his thumb and forefinger with a thoughtful expression.

"What dug these guys up?" He murmured, not even sure he wanted to know. Something like that, couldn't be Human. Demon, maybe. But no Human was that screwed up-Not enough to be helping the apocalypse. Wiping it off, to join the multiple things on the front of his jeans, he heard the creaking of the stairs too late.

"What are you doing down here-I'm calling the police!"

Oh. Great.

However, a thump followed this, and Castiel glanced back at them with a raised brow, "You were being slightly loud," He pointed out, lowering his hand, the man unconscious on the floor.

"So-What about this seal-"

"When a person is killed by a ghost, it leaves an imprint, and the ghost becomes tormented, much like an angry ghost. But when a person is killed while a ghost is possessing them-The spirit just disappears," Castiel spoke with a frown, "Most think it falls out of existence," He murmured, "This seal-Twenty must be killed-," He spoke.

"But this has happened to nine couples-You're not telling me..." Sam groaned, "Why do we always show up, just as it's about to happen?" He asked in disbelief, "You'd think we could've shown up with two or three couples to go," He murmured in irritation.

"If we had shown up early, something would have changed. Like a polygamous couple married in some other country would decide to move in last minute, and we'd be racing against the clock to save not only all of them, but the world," Dean replied. He watched with a slightly amused look as the current owner of the house came to a stop on the concrete floor. "Nice one, Cas. But you sure we were being loud? I think it's the smell. It's enough to make a sewer worker dizzy."

There wasn't much more to do in the basement, and if they stayed any longer Dean was going to hurl again. So he and Sam moved the corpses back into the room. After they were back in their prison, Dean looked to Cas and asked, "Do we need to burn them? Or what? I hope not. I really want to get out of here and boil my skin off in the shower."

[Ohhh, temp. brain fart.]

"Burning them won't change anything," Castiel answered, "You can leave," He murmured, lifting the man onto the steps and leaving him, watching the two shove the bodies back into place. "Just make sure the other two don't die," He murmured, not looking at all disturbed by the sight, or the smell, it came with being an Angel Sam was sure.

"C'mon-You coming with us-"

"I'll be there when you get back," Castiel answered, disappearing in front of them.

"That would be really useful sometimes," Sam noted, heading out of the basement and gulping in fresh air, "God-We better not have to go down there again," He complained quietly, the smell was still there, probably from him and Dean.

"I claim first shower," Sam chuckled quietly, trying to make light of the night so far as he headed back toward the car. A shower, something to drink, and a nice warm bed. Yeah, that sounded like the best end to the night. After he looked up the corpses of course.

Outside the basement, Dean took his time walking to the car after closing the basement. The smell, albeit it quieted, was still a loud disruption in Dean's quiet moment of recollection. It was on their clothes that stunk. Dean would take their clothes to the laundromat across the street after showering. Hopefully he had enough change to buy the soap needed and the surplus of bleach they would need to rid their clothes of the stench.

"If you use all of the hot water, I'll throw you on the bodies," Dean said as he unlocked his car door and slid in. The smell of leather was comforting and helped ease some of the nausea that plagued him. Eating dinner before going on a surprise break-in was probably the worst decision he had had in a while.

Though the fall air was cool, Dean cranked the windows down so the car could air out. Upon reaching the motel, Dean and Sam exchanged laughs at their wind-blown hair as they went to unlock the motel door. "Hurry up and shower. I'm going to jump in after you, take our clothes to the laundromat and then run out for a beer," he informed, pushing the door open.

"Yeah," Sam agreed with a careless shrug, picking up a change of clothes from his bed and slipping off to the shower, dousing himself in burning hot water, intent on getting rid of the stench, hell if he wanted to wander around smelling like a graveyard during summer. Now that wasn't a nice smell.

"Dean," Castiel spoke, appearing beside the male, "You and Sam have to make sure this seal doesn't get broken-Every seal broken leads Lilith one more step towards raising him, and we cannot allow that," He murmured, stepping back without having to be asked. He'd already been explained to the importance of 'personal space' even though he occasionally forgot about this. Frowning, he traveled back to the seat he'd previously occupied, looking somewhat distracted.

He hadn't gone to the other Angels about it. No doubt they would find out in time, but he wasn't exactly in any of their good books, and if he were to approach them, the questions would be focused on why he hadn't stopped it himself.

As Castiel spoke, Dean shimmied out of his jacket and dropped it on his bed with a minute look of disgust. Luckily the leather still smelt like leather and not a dead, rotting woman. It made him wonder, though. Did the cows, after being killed, smell like that? Or was the process of making, or curing, the leather faster than that? The thought caused him to space out of part of Castiel's sentence, but as he dropped it as meaningless, he got the end of what the angel had said.

"So we just have to ice this ghost before this last couple is...well, iced?" he asked, watching Castiel with an amused look as a light clicked on and he stepped back. Sam had told the angel of the golden aspect that is "personal space", and the angel seemed to have caught on. Clueless as he was sometimes in the matters of humans, Castiel caught on quickly. Dean liked to think that it was (mainly) due to his presence in the angel's...life? Was it called life? Did angels have lives, or just entities? Figuring because they could be killed, they had lives. So Dean wore a small triumphant smile as he slipped off his boots. "I think we can do this. I don't think the rifle will be in the basement, though. Things as important as dead bodies and a mystery rifle aren't usually clumped in the same place. I'm thinking one of his personal rooms, like the den or the workshop." It was perfectly logical to space things out like that. When Dean was younger, he used to hide his money around the house. A quarter here, a dollar there, a handful of silvers there. Thinking about the old house brought back old memories. At first they were pleasant, but then that quickly faded as the brightness of a fire bleached them out.

"Exactly," Castiel answered in response, glancing back in Dean's direction with a thoughtless look in his eyes. He could have gone on to talk about the importance, but he'd been around the Winchesters long enough now to know that tune had been played all too many times, and Dean was more likely not to listen then he was to take it to heart. Repeats were never that important anyway.

The brace his fingers against his knee for a moment, as though hearing something no one else could and a frown slipped across his features. "I have to go," He mumbled, getting to his feet abruptly, determination playing underneath his eyes with a feint, brief moment of fear slipped in. He wasn't on best terms with the Angels, they all accused him of being too attached to his job, and that was something that was unacceptable. It was an order, not a hobby, or something to be enjoyed.

"I'll return as soon as I can-Make sure you stop this," He frowned, disappearing as the bathroom door swung open and steam escaped, Sam stumbling out with a towel fastened around his waist, "Cas gone?" He murmured with a careless inclination of his head. It didn't come as a shock, the man appeared and disappeared of his own will.

"You can shower," He added, rubbing a second towel through his hair and drying it out.

Though it happened daily, Castiel appearing and disappearing at the drop of a hat, it was always a little too abrupt when he took his leave. Things were still a bit unsteady between the hunters and the angel, both parties thoroughly unsure as to what extent their relationship should meet. Should they be more friends, or co-workers? Or even more estranged? The ideal relationship, to angels, at least, seemed to be detachment and a snobby, I'm-better-than-you overall relationship. The humans caught while the angels pitched. It just so happened that Castiel was different from the other angels. He was cryptic as hell and came and went, usually unannounced, but he wasn't a prick. Castiel was...Castiel.

"Yeah, he's gone," Dean answered, his words a little too wound in sadness for his own interests. "I'm gonna shower now. If all the hot water's gone, your ass is mine."

The shower was a godsend, and Dean mulled over God, somewhere in the universe, blessing this motel shower for Dean's personal use. The water was hot, relaxing all coiled muscles and washing away the grime of the night's events. The steam being produced opened his airways to unbelievable clearness, and Dean took in lungful after lungful before plunging his face into the water. Even the shampoo, which was usually cheap and worthless in motels now a days, was decent. Its smell was even decent. Crisp and clean—no flowery bullshit.

After the water began to go cold, Dean told himself it was time to get out. His skin would prune if he stayed any longer. So begrudgingly he got out, the tile floor moist from the steam, and toweled off. The towel was a little scratchy, but he preferred that to the stench of those bodies. Speaking of which, he still had to run the clothes to the laundromat.

Despite being even more reluctant to do this task than the one prior, Dean pulled on a fresh pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, slipped on his boots and shoved the clothes into a grocery bag. "I'll have to come back if the laundromat doesn't have a coin machine. All I have are bills," mumbled the elder hunter, tying the ears of the bag into a knot.

"If they don't have one—which they should—just go get something from a 7-11 or something. Those clothes need to be washed by tonight, or torched." Sam was dressed in a pair of boxer shorts and a t-shirt, lying lazily on his bed with the television clicker in his open palm. Judging by his bored expression, there was nothing on. Dean would invite the other along, but sometimes it was nice to get away from his counterpart. He knew Sam like the back of his hand—or, he thought he did. New evidence was building up every day. But the Sam he knew—Sammy, the boy he helped raise; the kid who was bullied before hitting a major growth-spurt; the college kid—was as much a part of Dean as it was Sam.

With a nod of confirmation, Dean left the motel. The cool fall air played with his wet hair as he walked across the street, embracing him and then letting him lose. The sleepy little town they were in was dead as ever, case in point being the dead laundromat. There wasn't even anyone there besides Dean.

Finding the change machine upon entering, Dean was, to say the least, a little disappointed as he exchanged a dollar for four quarters. "Oh, well. I'll go to 7-11 anyway," he mumbled to himself, smiling inwardly. Or maybe he'd go to one of those twenty-four hour stores and get some pie. That sounded good.

[sorry I disappeared for a while! my muse kinda died. ):]