"A haunted chair." It was more of a declaration, really, than a question. A repetition of a baffling statement, one that had left Dean opening and closing his mouth for a second or two before speaking.

It wasn't that he was surprised that the chair was haunted- everything, it seemed, was haunted, in one war or another. It was just… usually the haunted items were different. Creepier. More like what they are in the movies. A doll, a mirror, an old painting… definitely not a chair. And a modern, spinning chair at that.

"Yup."

"At an Ikea store?" A modern, spinning chair still in the Ikea store.

"Yup."

"How the hell is a chair, brand new, still in the store, haunted?"

"It fell on a guy in the shipping factory, I guess."

"And they're still selling it?" A modern, spinning chair, still in the Ikea store, still being sold.

"Apparently."

Dean threw his hands up. "How did you even find this chair? What brought you to that chair? Are you sure it's not something in the chair? Are we sure it's even the chair, and not something else in the store? A penny in a couch or something?"

"Research, Dean." Sam pronounced each syllable slowly and clearly, raising his eyebrows. "Research brought me to the chair. Because of research, I am sure it is that chair. Research-"

"Shut the hell up, Sammy. You know what I mean."

"Well, there were three people that died in that store over the past week, so I looked into it."

"Three people?"

"Yeah. All died in the same isle, all died around noon, and all were men in their late forties. And, if you can believe it, they still haven't closed the store." Sam typed some more into his computer, and then flipped the screen around so Dean could see it. "It's this chair," he said, pointing to an article photo showing paramedics wheeling a poorly covered body out from one of Ikea's massive isles. The chair was barely in the frame, blurred by some Photoshop effect to make the body stand out more.

Dean sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, spinning on a heel and walking to the kitchen- one of the first kitchens that a motel they had stayed in offered. "How can they not close the store?" he muttered.

"All the deaths were internal causes- heart attack, and then two aneurisms." Sam shouted from his place at the table.

"So?" He called, bending over and shouting into the cold air of the mini fridge. "They're still dying."

"So, there was no blood."

"So?"

"So, there was no mess?"

"Really? Wow. Who would have thought there would be no mess with organ failures?"

"Aneurisms aren't-"

Dean sighed and slammed the door shut, twisting the cap off the bottle.

"Sam! Shut up! I mean, why haven't they closed the place down for a week or something? Three deaths? Isn't that a little much?"

"Isn't this beside the point?"

"Doesn't it seem suspicious to you?"

"Not really… it's a pretty busy store, Dean. And it's not like heavy-set men in their forties never have heart attacks or the like."

Dean walked back in and sat down on one of the motel beds. "Okay. Fine. How'd you figure it's the chair?"

Sam sighed. "There was an article about a man who died from a falling chair in a shipping warehouse about twenty miles from here. Ikea gets almost all those products from that place… including the chair. There wasn't even really any controversy from it. The man had no family to sue for the hazardous conditions, let alone sue for any of the 'psychological trauma' that selling the chair would bring them. So they shipped it."

"That's sick."

"I know."

"So did you track the serial number or something?"

"No. I looked at the photo, and that's the only chair in the isle. So it has to be that chair."

"Why are they having all this internal crap, though? Wouldn't the guy who died have been a little bloody on the outside? Chair wheels in his skull or something like that?"

"No- he was crushed. Like, the box fell and he was alive under it until the weight got to him. That would explain the heart attack- probably the same with the aneurism. The weight of the box killed this guy, now the build up of something else kills these guys."

"That's a pretty in-depth analysis."

"Ghosts are pretty symbolic."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I fucking hate these things," he muttered. "So, what do we do?"

"What we always do, I guess."

"What time does the store close?"

"At ten on weekends."

Dean sighed and laced his fingers behind his neck. "Okay." Dean glanced at the clock, then at the sun. "I'll get have a beer now, we'll drive over, crash in and burn the chair, and then leave. Right away."

"Okay," Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Where are we going next?"

Dean shrugged. "Bobby's?"

"Okay."

They were silent for a minute, Dean pacing around the room, Sam tapping his fingers on his leg. Dean broke the silence, coming to a stop in front of the T.V. He sat down on the bed, elbows on his knees, and glanced over at Sam.

"Hey, Sammy?"

"Yeah?"

"On a scale of one to ten, how opposed would you be to pulling Cas into this?"

"What?"

"On a scale of one to ten, one being 'Hell, no, Dean," and ten being, "Oh, yeah, babe, bring Cas in,' how-"

"No, I mean, why?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know, man. Just- the other day, when he switched back to Jimmy and spared the daughter… you know, he's different from other angels. I think the more time we get him away from them, the more he'll be…"

"Human?"

"No-"

"Human."

"Maybe. I don't know. Less dick-like, though. He has potential to be good. And he wouldn't be a bad ally to have when Michael comes on down."

Sam glanced back at his computer. "Okay. Call him in."

"You sure you don't mind?"

"Nah. I like the guy. And you have a point. The less time he spends with those angels, the better."

"Then why don't you call him?"

"What?"

"If you don't mind so much, why don't you call him?"

Sam tilted his head to the side, raising one eyebrow. "Because the guy doesn't respond to me?"

"You've tried calling him?"

"Yeah, a bunch of times. You haven't?"

"Only when you've told me to. Or when it's been decided he'd be helpful."

Sam frowned. "Huh. Okay. Well, he always responds to those. So." He made a sweeping gesture with his hands.

Dean scowled, then titled his head to the ceiling. "Well, here comes the only non-dick angel to ever exist," he muttered.

"Yup. And nothing like hanging around with us to push him further towards mercy and understanding."

Dean shot Sam a glare. "You cry every two minutes. He's gonna learn compassion and mercy in the first half hour."

Dean tilted his face back up towards the ceiling, ignoring Sam's choice of gesture.

"Castiel, Castiel, come on down here." He paused, then added: "In front of me."

There was a minute of silence, and then the tell-tale woosh that the boys would hear if they listened more closely that signaled the angel's arrival. He popped up directly in front of Dean, his coat flapping slightly.

"Cas," Dean said. Sam waved his hand, standing up and walking over so he could lean on the doorjam.

"Dean. Sam." Castiel nodded at each, and then looked around. "Why did you call me here?"

Dean clapped his hands and stood up. "There's this haunted chair at an Ik-"

Sam cut in. "We've found a demon stronger than usual at this store- an Ikea- not far from here." Dean shot him a look, but Sam continued. "We thought you might want to check it out with us."

Cas took a breath, and then sighed. "Very well. We'll have to work quickly, though. I have… duties to attend to." He glanced around the room, his eyes quick, scanning for dangers. Sam tossed a glance at Dean, who looked back at Cas.

"What do you mean?"

Castiel's eyes landed back on Dean's. "I have duties I have to attend to. I'm an Angel of the Lord, aft-"

"What types of 'duties'?" Sam unfolded his arms and put them in his pockets.

Cas was silent for a minute, narrowing his eyes, before he let out a harsh, "Heavenly duties. They do not concern you."

There was a moment of silence. Then:

"Are you sure, Cas?" Dean asked. "Because I seem to recall one instance of 'heavenly duties' where a town was almost wiped out. That would concern me."

"You weren't going to be in town at the time," Cas said. His voice was strong, unwavering, but something in his eyes flashed and his glance shot to the window.

"Oh, and you were going to be okay with that? So long as two of us were out, nothing would have been wrong with it? Killing all those people would have been a-okay?" Dean scowled at Cas, his voice low. "Damn it, Cas, what are you going to do now?"

"No one is going to die, Dean. Not as a result of my actions."

"Well, what about your angel friends-"

"They are not my friends-"

"Cas? Are their actions going to result in death?" Sam cut in.

Cas shook his head, his mouth a small white line. "This is not something we have time for. Let's go."

Before Sam or Dean could say anything more, he disappeared in a small gust of air.

They were silent for a minute, staring at the space the angel had occupied. "Damn him!" Dean burst suddenly, throwing his bottle at the wall, where it shattered.

"Do you think-"

"Yeah. I do."

Sam gnawed on the inside of his cheeks. "He seemed upset about the prospect of killing, at least."

"Yeah, and how long is that going to last?"

"If it's lasted this long…" Sam trailed off, taking a deep breath.

Dean grunted and yanked their bags out of the closet. "Here." He tossed the duffels at Sam, grabbing his keys from his pocket. "Let's roll."

"Does Cas even know where to go?" Dean flung open the door hard enough to send it smacking into the wall, the handle leaving a shallow dent in the cheap drywall.

"He's an angel. Of course he knows where to go."

"But-"

"You said the name of the store, Sammy."

"Still," Sam said as he opened the trunk to the Impala, tossing their bags inside, "What if he bails?"

"Why would he do that?"

"Because, and I'm not sure if you noticed, because he wasn't to obvious about his discomfort with the subject or anything, we seemed to put him on edge with the whole, 'heavenly duties' spiel."

"He better fucking show up, or I'll kick his ass."

Dean slid in behind the wheel as Sam slid into shotgun. They were silent as the car started, Dean's music beginning automatically, blaring out the lyrics of a song Sam had heard a thousand times but didn't care enough to learn the lyrics too, and continued to be silent for the first ten minutes of the drive.

They would have remained silent, in fact, had they not been startled into shouting when a voice, angry, suddenly sounded from behind them.

"It is not-"

Sam jumped and Dean let out one of his more colorful swears.

"-a demon in that store, Sam. It's a ghost. A small one."

"Yeah?" Dean glanced in the rearview mirror, shooting the angel a glare.

"You should be able to handle something like that on your own," Cas replied, matching Dean's glare. "You won't need me. You shouldn't have even called me. Not for something as trivial as this."

Sam twisted in his seat so he could see Cas. "Okay, well, we weren't sure if we could. Handle it."

"You should be able to tell after all these years."

"It could've been powerful."

"You would've done research."

"That doesn't mean for sure-"

"There were only three deaths-"

"But-"

"And you lied. You said it was a demon."

"I didn't lie."

"You're lying right now, Sam."

Sam fell silent.

"Why did you lie?"

"I didn't-"

"Sam."

Sam sighed, looking to Dean for support. Dean shrugged.

Sam scowled at him before turning back to Cas. "Because if we told you it was a ghost you wouldn't have come."

"And why was it so important that I come along?"

"Because- uh-"

"Because we wanted to spend some time with you. As friends." Dean cut in.

Cas clenched his teeth, leaning forward slightly. "And you couldn't just tell me that?"

"Well, if you had 'heavenly duties' to attend to-" Dean lifted his hands off the wheel to put quotations around the words, causing some minor panic from Sam, "-you wouldn't have come."

The angel blinked, staring ahead for a minute before sitting back, almost relaxing into the seat.

"Maybe I would have," he mumbled, almost too quiet for the two to hear over the roar of the engine.

"Here we are," Dean said, the first thing that was said after Cas's remark. The Ikea in front of them was huge- not unexpected, but still rather shocking in its size. The sun was just setting, casting eerie shadows across the almost-empty parking lot. Dean had parked towards the back of the store, where a set of windows reflected the last rays of the sun.

"Okay. So this should go quick." Sam said, shoving his door open. Cas followed suit, both circling around to the trunk to meet Dean, who was already out of the car and pulling some bags from the compartment.

"Here," Dean handed Cas a smaller bag. "That's the salt. It helps keep the ghosts away, just like ir-"

"Dean."

Dean smirked, throwing a bag to his brother. "Let's go."

They walked towards the store, slowly, though less wary than usual.

"Do we know the routes of the security guards?" Sam asked, the thought popping into his head as they got closer to the windows.

"Yes," Cas said, speaking before Dean could. "We should be good for another fifteen to twenty minutes."

"Well, good thing we brought the manger of Ikea security with us," Dean muttered. Cas shot him a look, but turned his gaze back to the building.

"Cas, if something goes wrong, can you zap all of us out of there?" Sam asked.

"Of c-"

"No. No. Sam, trust me, you don't know what that's like."

"If it's an emergency, though-"

"Sammy. Stop. That is not a good idea. Trust me."

Cas nodded towards Sam. "Dean enjoys regular bowl movements," he said. Sam sniggered and Dean's fist connected with Cas's shoulder, causing the angel to stumble at the unexpected shove. He straightened quickly, though his shoulders were hunched slightly, angling away from Dean.

"You shut the hell up, Cas."

"He does seem to enjoy those," Sam remarked, words broken slightly from chuckles.

"You shut your pie hole, too," Dean snapped.

There was several more seconds of laughter before Sam managed to smother it. They reached the white brick of the Ikea store, stepping onto the sidewalk below the windows as the sun disappeared below the tree line, plunging them into the type of darkness only a mixture of night and a fifty foot distance from the nearest streetlight can make.

"So, do we just smash a window?"

"Yeah. That's kind of what we always do?"

"No shit, Sherlock. I mean, should we wait until the sun has been gone for more than two minutes?"

"Say what you mean, Dean."

"I'm about one smart-ass comment away from punching you square in the jaw." Dean ignored the snickers coming from Sam's direction and turned towards Cas.

"Here. Take this rock-" he reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the rocks from the side path of the motel they just left and grabbed Cas's arm, jerking it forward and flipping it so he could set the rock in his palm, "-and toss it through that window."

Cas looked up at the window, and then down at his hand, still clasped between Dean's hands and heavy from the rock. He pulled back, curling his fingers around the stone.

"Why am I the one doing this?"

Dean grinned, his smile hidden in the dark. "Because you gotta break the rules some time, Cas," he said, taking a step back and leaning forward slightly, palms up.

"I break the rules plenty of times, Dean," Cas said. "Mostly for you."

"Just throw the damn rock."

Cas clutched the rock more tightly, spun on his heel, and threw the rock as hard as it could. Dean burst out laughing as the sound of the rock hitting the ground about fifty feet behind him rang out.

"Cas, I, uh, I think you were supposed to throw the other way," Sam said, his own laughter making it hard to speak properly.

Cas grumbled, and slammed a palm into the wall next to him.

"I thought," he said, "that I would make it a little easier for us."

And then the wall beside them exploded, bricks and pipe and wires flying outwards and upwards.

Sam and Dean immediately stopped laughing and ducked as debris rained down and the light from inside the store poured over them, the dim fluorescents still bright enough to blind them after the darkness they were in.

"Cas, what the hell?" Dean sputtered, peeking out from under an arm.

"We're going to be found!" Sam hissed, taking a step backwards into the shadows. Dean reached out, trying to grab Cas, but the angel took a step back.

"No, we're not," he said, the smug look on his face matching the arrogance in his voice. There was an undercurrent of amusement, but neither Sam nor Dean noticed it. "No noise, and no guards. I'll have this fixed once we're in."

Dean furrowed his eyebrows, but Sam's shot up as he realized that there, in fact, had been no noise other than a low cracking when the wall had burst. The bricks and pipes, which should have clattered loudly to the ground, were, he now noticed, gently settling themselves to the pavement.

"Oh, my God, Dean, he's right." Sam smiled then, one of the biggest smiles that Cas had ever been gifted with. "We need to bring you along more often," he said, and then took a step towards, and inside, the store, stepping around the stuff on the ground and ducking under a wire.

Dean tossed Cas a grin, and then followed Sam into the store, waving for Cas to follow them.

The angel stepped through the hole he made, and, almost immediately, the bricks and other debris reversed their outward path. Less than a moment later, the wall was perfectly intact.

"Dude, that was fucking awesome," Dean whisper-shouted. Cas offered him a small smile, pleased when Sam nodded, too.

They set off then, "Towards isle twelve B in the storage section," Sam and Dean silently ducking behind dressers, Cas walking confidently out in the open.

"Cas, what about the cameras?" Dean asked, crouching behind a couch, wincing a little as Cas strode down the path he had just carefully followed Sam down.

"Dean, if the cameras were a problem, they wouldn't exist right now."

Sam looked at Dean over his shoulder, frowned, shrugged, and straightened, taking a step into the middle of the isle they were walking down. After a moment, Dean followed suit.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Dean quickly taking the lead, Sam falling back to the rear. Cas looked around, taking note of all the different colors and styles of furniture. It wasn't that he had never seen anything like this before- he was, after all, an angel that had seen human civilization rise from white stone chairs to the Lay-Z-Boy. It was just that he had never been able to really take the time to admire the amount of different styles that this centaury had to offer. Red plush chairs sat next to sleek black ones, patterned, stiff couches were placed next to simply designed, but very plushy couches, tables that could fit twenty were laid out next to tables that would seat two, if both occupants were children.

"I like that one," he said aloud, for no particular reason that he could think of. He voice crashed through the silence, but there were no guards around, so it didn't matter. The brothers glanced up at the object he was pointing too- a lamp designed to imitate vines, dangling from the ceiling and wrapping around several tall poles. Dean shrugged. "It's alright. I prefer that one," he whispered, aware that Cas wouldn't have talked so loudly if there were guards nearby, but unwilling to raise his own voice. Sam snorted, looking up at the lamp that Dean was pointing at: a blocky, clunky, dark green lamp that, apparently, would light up from the inside. Either that or it was a hideous statue accidentally placed in the lamp section of the store.

"I gotta agree with Cas," Sam said. He grinned at Dean scowled at him over his shoulder. "Who knew the angel would have a better décor taste than a human?"

"Shut up, Sammy."

"Make me, Dean."

Before Dean could, though, Cas suddenly veered down an isle. Sam misstepped, then twisted and followed, letting out a breath between his teeth to get Dean to turn back around and follow them.

"Cas, what are we doing?" Sam asked after a moment of walking. The angel was still walking down the center of the isles, so it couldn't have been guards.

"I wanted to look at this," Cas mumbled, almost speaking to himself. He stopped quite suddenly then, looking at a white lamp that depicted an angel. It was bone-white, except for a blue gem in base of the angel's throat. The figure's wings bent up, then flowing down, like a bird's wings when it was stretching. Her hands were held above her head, clutching the light bulb, and she was smiling, her hair curled around her face. Sam stared at the lamp for a moment, then looked over at Castiel.

"And?" Dean asked, shaking his head once.

Cas tore his gaze away from the lamp. "And what?"

"And is it significant?"

Cas glanced at the lamp once more, then took a step away. "Angels don't often smile," he said. "The lamp is inaccurate."

He walked back down the isle, going back to their original path.

"Well, good thing you can spot imperfections with human design!" Dean called, before snorting and picking up his stride. Sam sighed, staying back to watch the rear, like usual, as Dean passed Cas.

After a few more minutes of walking, they came to the isle they were looking for. Dean almost took a step into the row, but then stumbled back.

"We're not going to have heart attacks, will we?" he asked, glancing at Sam.

"I doubt it." It was Cas that answered. "I don't think the ghost will perceive you as a threat until it's too late."

Sam swung his bag off his shoulder. "I'll set up a salt circle. Cas, can you, I don't know, pull the chair to the floor? Gently, so it doesn't shatter?" He pointed at the chair when it was mentioned, the black leather shiny in the dim lights from above.

Cas nodded, and, in the blink of an eye, was on the shelf behind the chair, clutching its back, before disappearing and reappearing again in the salt circle that Sam was just starting. Dean pulled the lighter fluid out of his own bag, waiting for Cas to step back before beginning to douse the chair, him and Sam finishing at almost the exact same time.

Reaching into his pocket, Dean took out his lighter, and tossed it towards Cas. "Wanna do the honors?"

Cas caught the lighter, glancing at it for a moment before flicking it open and leaning forward to touch the flame to the gas. Instantly, the chair lit up, the smell of burning leather filling the air.

They stood there, watching the flames.

"Well, that was easy," Sam said.

"Yeah. A little… too easy? Are we sure that was the right chair?"

Cas nodded. "Yes. There was definitely a ghost in that chair."

They stood a moment longer, watching their flames.

"Is- is the ghost gone yet?"

Cas nodded.

"Why the hell was that so easy?"

"I'm not sure."

"Sam, we have yet to be tossed into a wall."

"I am aware."

"My bones are intact. My head is un-bumped. My muscles aren't sore. How did that thing kill three people and not even attack us?"

Sam shrugged.

"Those men were already susceptible to those things," Cas said. "Perhaps the ghost was only strong enough to speed the process along?"

"Yeah. Maybe. That's gotta be it," Dean said. Sam nodded, glancing around.

"Should we go?"

"No. No guards are close by." Cas looked up at the ceiling. "We have another fifteen minutes."

"Didn't we have fifteen minutes at the beginning?"

"In that area. We're in a different area now, Dean."

"Okay, okay. Jeez."

"Does that mean we can't go, though?"

"No. I suppose not." Cas paused. "But- shouldn't you make sure that the chair burn completely?"

Dean sighed, then nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Let's wait until this thing burns all the way down, and then let's haul ass outta here. You coming with us to Bobby's, Cas?"

Cas's breath hitched in his throat, his heart- or, his vessel's heart, his vessel's throat, he supposed- seemed to sink. He almost started to wonder why, but he knew it was only pretend ignorance about humans, which made very little sense, as he knew emotions and reactions and styles and thoughts and- he cut off that train of thought.

He knew he didn't want to leave them behind, and there was no use pretending he didn't know that. He didn't want to go back to Heaven where he did things he didn't really want to do, where he fought for power in an exhausting war, where he didn't have friends, where he didn't have a family.

"No," he said at last, his voice louder than it needed to be. "I have my duties."

Dean sighed, and Sam sent Cas a worried glance. "You know," he said, "You could ditch them, just this once."

Cas closed his eyes, ignoring the two pairs of eyes trained on him. "No," he said, "No. I can't."

He opened his eyes again and stared into the dwindling fire. Sam frowned more deeply and turned his gaze back to the flames as well, but Dean stared at Cas until they decided they had to go. The angel avoided both of their gazes until they made it back outside, where he quickly blinked away from them.