Dean was at the wheel when his phone rang. Sam opened one eye, his expression annoyed. "Fifteen minutes of sleep. Wow, I feel refreshed." Dean glanced at the clock on the dash. It was just after 4 am. With one hand, he dug for his phone and flipped it open. "Hello?"

"Is this Dean Winchester?" an unfamiliar voice asked.

"Uh, yeah. Who's this?"

Sam glanced over, interested now. Usually the only people that called Dean's cell that they didn't know were people who had been in contact with their father.

"I don't know if you'd remember me, but you and your dad helped my family out with a... problem a few years ago. My name's August Anderson. I was living in Glencoe, Illinois."

It took Dean a few moments to remember. Glencoe... Anderson... "Oh, yeah. The little boy spirit was in your basement. It would only show itself to you." He grinned. "Auggie Anderson! Yeah, I remember. But you never liked being called Auggie, did you?"

Auggie laughed. "Actually, I don't mind it so much anymore. Only my mom calls me August now. Listen, I'm living in DC now, and I think I have another problem here that might be something you guys can help me with. You still working with your dad? I tried calling him first, but I got a voicemail that told me to call you."

Dean glanced at his brother. Sam was listening intently to his side of the conversation. He hadn't gone along on that hunting trip - he had only been eight at the time. "Uh, no. He passed away not too long ago."

Auggie's voice was immediately sympathetic. "I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

"Yeah, well. This job has its risks." He cleared his throat, avoiding Sam's gaze. "I'm working with my little brother now. Sam and I were just heading east anyway. We can be there sometime tomorrow morning, early afternoon at the latest. The address is... okay. Yup, I got it. It's no problem. Yeah. Okay, we'll see you then." He hung up.

"Well?" Sam asked, eyebrows raised expectantly.

Dean sighed. "It was a guy me and Dad did a job for a long time ago. You were eight, I was twelve. This kid named Auggie, he kept seeing a little boy following him around, even though no one else in the family could. Turns out the spirit only revealed itself to him because he was the youngest in the family - the spirit had been killed by his older brothers, and wanted to help Auggie murder his own family so he wouldn't have to go through the same thing. Turned out to be just a salt and burn. Anyway, Auggie's living in DC now and apparently he's having another supernatural problem."

Sam nodded. "Beats going to Nowhere, Indiana or wherever the hell you wanted to go. At least DC has decent libraries."

He rolled his eyes. "Geek."

"Jerk."

Dean grinned. "Bitch." He pressed on the gas. The miles flew away beneath the Impala's tires as he drove toward Washington, DC.

Three loud knocks sounded, making Auggie jump. He was definitely more paranoid than ever since he had figured out just what was moving his stuff around. The worst part was that he couldn't see it. The last time he had encountered a ghost, he had seen flashes of a small boy everywhere in his house. This time... hell, the thing could be right in front of him at any time, and he'd never know.

On his way to the door, he tripped over something. Biting back a curse, he reached down and felt along the floor, finding a shoe. It was his sneaker. He tossed it off to the side where he wouldn't trip over it again. Then he fumbled with the lock and pulled open the door.

"Hey, Auggie," said a man's voice.

Auggie smiled. "Dean Winchester. It's been a while. Come on in." He stood back from the door and tilted his head slightly, listening to the footsteps entering. "And you must be Sam," he said to the second set of footsteps.

"Nice to meet you," said a slightly deeper voice. Auggie held out a hand and a strong grip met it.

"It's good to see you again," said Dean from his left.

He smiled wryly. Time for the reveal. "I wish I could say the same," he commented. He faced the two brothers and counted in his head. One, two, three...

"Oh, hell," muttered Dean. "What happened to you?"

"Explosion in Tikrit. I was Special Ops." He closed the door and latched it again. "And whatever this thing is, it knows I'm blind. It keeps moving my stuff around and it's just a bit annoying."

There was another pause, this one more awkward than the last. Auggie kept his face neutral, waiting. Finally Dean cleared his throat. "Uh, well. Spirits do different things, depending on, you know, how they died, what their life was like. You'll be lucky if this one is just annoying."

"It hasn't tried to kill you?" Sam asked. His voice was calmer, surer than his brother's. He heard him entering the apartment, probably looking for any signs of the ghost.

Auggie took a few steps forward, his hand coming to rest on the back of his chair. He leaned on it. "If putting shoes in my path counts as a murder attempt, then yes. But I haven't gotten a knife in the ribs yet."

Dean snorted. There were rustling sounds... and then a strange whirring that Auggie couldn't place. Something mechanical began to whine, and the noise grated on his ears. It grew louder and he finally had to ask. "What is that?"

The ghost hunter sounded like he was grinning. "EMF. Made it myself. It detects electromagnetic frequencies in your apartment. And you definitely have some spirit action in here."

The other voice spoke from near his kitchen. "Do you normally keep your cane on top of the refrigerator?"

Auggie swore. "That's where it went. I've been looking for that all morning." He sighed deeply. "Hiding things from the blind guy. This ghost is just plain evil."

He had been hoping for a chuckle, but got no response. At first he thought that the brothers weren't comfortable with his joking about his disability (some people weren't), but after a moment he realized that they were just immersed in their work. He heard Sam murmuring something about poltergeists, and Dean's machine was still making a racket on his left. Suddenly it went crazy, and Dean said, "Sam!"

There were a few moments of silence. Auggie fidgeted nervously. "Uh, guys?" he asked finally.

"We just saw it."

"What? Where?"

"In your bedroom," Dean muttered. "Damn it! Where'd she go?"

Auggie's eyes widened. "The ghost was in my bedroom?"

"She's gone now, but yeah." Sam sounded distracted. His footsteps moved away, and then stopped. "You're not going to like this."

Auggie bit back a sigh as he headed in the direction of Sam's voice. The cryptic remarks were really beginning to annoy him. He passed the younger brother and paused when his foot struck something soft. He bent down, fingering it. It was a shirt. He straightened, the shirt in his hands. "Please tell me that thing didn't just rearrange my closet."

A hand clapped his shoulder, making him jump. Damn, the man was quiet. "I would, buddy, but it's not nice to lie," Dean said cheerfully. "Looks like you got a mischievous little girl in your apartment. She was grinning like crazy at me. Looked about ten or eleven years. See any injuries on her?"

Auggie almost gave him a smart retort when he realized he'd been talking to Sam. "Nope. Looked okay to me. No sign of any trauma, and she looked downright happy for a spirit."

Auggie moved into his bedroom, picking up articles of clothing and throwing them in the direction of the bed. His hand touched something silky and he froze. "Even my ties?" he groaned. "Man, she's cruel. Anyone wanna tell me what color this is?" He held it up.

"Blue." Dean sounded like he was fighting back a laugh.

Auggie rolled his eyes. "I only have five blue ties. A little more specificity, please?"

Someone moved closer to him and he heard more clothes being picked up. "Dean isn't very creative with descriptions. I'll help you rearrange things, and he'll get to work with finding out about your little visitor. The tie is a light blue with dark blue stripes."

"Thank you." He wandered over to his closet and ran his fingers along the Braille labels above the hooks for his ties, finding the right one and hanging it back up. For the next half hour Sam handed him articles of clothing and Auggie put it in its right place. The little girl ghost had been thorough - she even turned a few things inside out. When they were done, he still had three empty hangers, even though Sam couldn't see any more shirts in his room. He figured they would turn up sooner or later - probably in his oven or under his couch.

Dean came back just as Auggie had put the last hanger in its place. "Talked with one of your neighbors. He's been having the same issues as you. Things taken and hidden, rearranged, furniture moved around. Funny thing is, he said the same thing has happened to him every year for the past five years. This is the worst it's ever been."

"Five years?" Sam's voice was surprised. "Did he say what he thinks is happening?"

His older brother laughed. "I love old people. This guy was in his seventies, sharp as a tack. Outright said it was a ghost. He's heard her laughing, even seen her once or twice. I asked him if he ever felt afraid of it and he said no. She comes every year, plays a few tricks on him, leaves within a week. I got the impression he didn't mind the company."

Auggie cocked his head. "Mr. Windor? That doesn't surprise me. His daughter moved away a few years back and he doesn't get a lot of visitors. I didn't know he believed in ghosts, though."

"Yup. How long have you lived in this building?"

"Almost three years. I moved in a couple months before I went to Iraq."

"And you've never noticed anything strange happening before this?"

The blind CIA operative considered for a moment. "It's March 30th, right? A year ago I was in Barcelona for a vacation, and two years ago I would have been in Tikrit. If she comes back every year, I wasn't around to experience it." The lie flowed easily past his lips. He hadn't been on vacation in Barcelona, of course - he had been helping a young operative on a mission. But Dean and Sam didn't need to know that.

"And you never heard of a little girl dying in this building?"

Auggie just shook his head. There was a brief silence, so long that he started to wonder what was happening. Finally Sam spoke. "We've gotta do some research, then. Find out who this girl was and why she's been messing with you. And, more importantly, where she's buried."

He raised an eyebrow. "Uh... why do you need to know that?"

Dean laughed. "So we can salt and burn her bones, of course. We can't really just ask her politely to leave you alone. We've gotta make sure she doesn't come back. I'll stay here with you while Sam does a little digging. She hasn't tried to kill you yet, but you never know when spirits will act a little crazy. And with you being blind... it adds a bit more of a risk."

They moved into his living room and he heard his door being opened and shut. He settled back on his couch with a sigh. "You'd think these things follow me around," he muttered.

The furniture beneath him shifted as Dean plopped down next to him. "Story of my life, Anderson. Story of my life."