Summary; "The chains have been broken, yet his wrath is untamed. Who can face the Mad God's rage?" What starts as a haunting might spell the beginning of the end as Castiel is faced with consequences, while Sam and Dean try to do the impossible. Again.
A/N I own nothing you recognise. Not canon compliant but probably set sometime during season 8, as events up until purgatory will be mentioned. Please excuse spelling and/or grammar mistakes, but feel free to point them out.
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Chapter one: A simple haunting.
"Well, this doesn't look so bad." Dean closed the car-door and blinked against the late sunlight. They had parked just outside the rusted gates of an old have yard. Long grass surrounded crumbling gravestones and the unkept gravel path leading up top a small wooden church. The church was little more then a ruin, with no window-panes left and part of the roof collapsed. Taking the shotgun put of the trunk, Dean double checked the ammunition. "So what are we dealing with here Sammy."
Sam sighed and hefted the bag with salt and other materials up on his shoulder. "You would know if you had helped me with research yesterday instead of trying to get into the waitress's pants." He pointed out dryly. Dean shrugged.
"Hey, she was hot, I'm a man. Not all of us can be nerds like you Sammy."
Sam decided not to dignify that with an answer.
"There's been several sightings of a young woman moving around here during night, however when approached, she has simply spoken a single word - not in English mind you - and disappeared."
"A ghost then." Dean fumbled with the gate for a moment before managing to push it open, electing a groan from rusty hinges.
"See, there's the thing. Nobody who has seen her can recognise her, and there has been nothing in the area that suggests the creation of a ghost like this. No suicides, no missing persons, nothing. She just turned up out of the blue." Sam looked up at the wooden doors leading into the church. They looked as if they were the steadiest thing still standing on the entire property.
"Well if it's not a ghost, what is it?" Dean looked up at his brother, feeling just a slight prickle of annoyance at having a little brother so God dammed huge.
"I don't know Dean, maybe a psychic projection, like that little girl who made the town act out her fairy tales, remember?" Sam placed his shoulder to the door, and managed to push it open enough for the two of them to enter. Dean first, shotgun half raised, followed by Sam, his hand curled around a pile of salt in the bag.
There was nothing inside. Sunlight shone through the hole in the roof, and cast long dark shadows over what remained of pews and other decorations left behind when the church was abandoned. The floorboards creaked dangerously when they walked across, looking from side to side.
"So... I guess the best thing to do it's to wait for darkness?" Sam asked. Dean nodded.
"I guess. Let's find a relatively safe place to camp out. Honestly I'm more afraid that the place will collapse on us rather than of any ghosts." He smiled tightly. "Please tell me you brought food."
...
"Sam, I take back every bad thing I've said about you." Dean almost attacked his third piece of pie. Sam smiled slightly from his position at the edge of the salt circle. While Dean ate, Sam was on shotgun watch.
"Hey, can I get that in writing?" Dean sent him a glare, but there was no heat in it.
The moonlight shone in through the hole in the roof, bathing everything in a cold grey light. The night was quiet so far, only interrupted by the occasional hoot of a stray owl, or the barking of a dog at some farm out of sight. Finishing of his pie, Dean stood and stretched his arms over his head.
"You know, with all that has happened... I've almost forgot how boring these stake-outs can be." He yawned and rolled stiff shoulders backwards.
"Yhea, say what you want about the apocalypse, but it wasn't boring." Sam agreed. Dean laughed.
"Or taking on arch-angels."
"Or hunting leviathans."
"Remember when this was all we did?" Dean smiled. "How did we not die from boredom?"
"Busty Asian Beauties?" Sam said with a wry smile. Dean laughed again.
"Touche. Wish I had brought a magazine with me... Sammy?" Sam had stopped smiling and rose slowly, nodding to something behind Dean, who spun around with a muffled curse.
A young woman,a bit shorter then Dean, brunette and dressed in Jeans and a grey sweater, stood in the middle of the illuminated floor. As Dean and Sam watched, she looked around, seemed to spot them and walked, slowly but surely towards them. Dean could hear Sam undo the safety on the gun, but he did not raise it. Stopping at the end of the circle, she lifted her hand and pointed at them.
"Ärende"
Dean spared a glance at Sam, who shook his head slightly. He had no idea what it meant. They looked back at the ghost, who frowned at their lack of response.
Then she stepped over the salt line.