Dean made his way past the front desk and into the offices of the tax law firm where Jacqueline Rhodes worked until very recently. He came upon her desk only to find someone wrestling with disconnecting the computer monitor.

"Excuse me," Dean said clearing his throat.

The culprit, a woman with red hair, wearing a floral skirt and sheer blouse, looked guiltily up at him, her hands clutching the monitor.

"Is this Jacqueline's desk?"

"Not anymore, is it?" Red said smartly.

Dean failed in restraining his scowl. "You're taking her computer?"

Red shrugged casually as she stood and adjusted her blouse. "Just the monitor. It's a lot better than the one I have, and I figured I'd have to stake claim to it before anyone else does. No offense intended or anything, it's just office politics, you know. I'm at the bottom of the food chain, so to speak."

"Right," Dean said skeptically. "I'm Agent Lloyd, I wanted to speak to Jacqueline's boss."

"Agent?" Her interest piqued, Red stepped closer to him. "Smart and pretty. Must be my lucky day."

Dean cleared his throat. His experience with women was extensive, yet he preferred to be the one making the advances. While a woman who saw what she wanted and then just went after it was a bit of a turn on, the entire concept slightly terrified him as well. "Jacqueline's boss," he managed to say as he regained his cool.

"Mr. Lamper," Red smiled, making Dean blink rapidly, and nodded at the glass door just behind Jackie's desk.

Once Dean moved away Red began wrestling with the monitor once again. Yeah, her points were all valid, and someone else would probably pounce on that monitor pretty soon anyway. But for some reason, he didn't think it was right to start looting the woman's desk when she hadn't even been dead for twenty four hours.

"Horace Lamper" was etched into the glass on the office door. Dean tapped on it with his knuckles and opened the door before getting an answer.

"Mister Lamper? I'm Agent Lloyd, I wanted to ask you a few questions."

"I didn't kill her if that's what you're going to ask!"

Dean stopped short and lifted his eyebrows.

Lamper's anxious face stared back at him from behind his desk. Then, slowly, he relaxed a little, mopping his large forehead with a handkerchief he pulled out of his pocket. "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry. I've just – well, I've already spoken to the police. They've confirmed my alibi. I wasn't here last night. Well, yes I was here, but not after six."

Dean held up his hands peacefully. "I just wanted to ask you about Jacqueline. A few simple questions, okay?"

Mr. Lamper calmed a little and nodded, gesturing for Dean to have a seat in front of his desk.

Dean eased his way slowly and carefully into the room and into the chair as if Mr. Lamper was a sleeping tiger he was trying not to disturb. "How long have you known Jacqueline?"

"Jackie," Mr. Lamper said. The handkerchief was out again, mopping the enormous forehead. "I can't believe she's gone, just like that," Lamper snapped his fingers. "I've known her for over a year. That's when she started working here. Always did a good job. Finished projects on time. I'm a very forgetful person, so it was good to have her as my assistant. She kept me focused."

"Do you know of anyone here in the office that might not have liked her? Might have wanted to hurt her?"

Lamper's eyes widened in shock. "Oh no, nothing like that! She was well liked here. There were occasional office pranks and that sort of thing, but nothing, you know, lethal. She was here last night finishing up a project that I needed by this morning."

He sighed sadly and touched a bound stack of papers on his desk. "These reports were ready and waiting on my desk this morning. But Jackie wasn't here. She usually is by the time I get here."

"What about Jackie's family?" Dean tried to steer the subject away from the office.

"I think she just has an aunt who lives upstate. No other family that I know of. I know that she was alone a lot of the time. I felt bad for her. That's why I invited her to have dinner with my family a few times. She only took me up on it once." Lamper absently touched a silver frame that sat on his desk. The picture in the frame was of a pretty, freckled woman with curly, chestnut hair, and a young boy. "But she never seemed to mind it."

"Have you noticed anything weird around the office recently?"

"Weird?"

Dean shrugged. "You know, out of the ordinary? Strange smells, cold spots, noises?"

Lamper's eyes darted wildly around the room for a moment before he answered. "Should I have?"

"No," Dean gave up and stood. "That's all right. Thanks for your time."

Sam and Dean met up at their motel, both with very unsuccessful visits to the morgue and interviewing witnesses.

Dean took off his suit jacket and tossed it onto the bed. He began undoing his neck tie as Sam sat down at a small table next to the window with his laptop.

"I hate new!" Dean declared as he fell backwards onto one of the beds, and began staring at the ceiling. "And that's the last time you're taking Baby without me in this town. Taxis are freaking expensive!"

"So there was nothing where she worked?" Sam's eyes were on the laptop monitor as he spoke.

"No, just a nervous boss, and a whole lot of nothing else," Dean said. "She's got no family around here, and as far as I can tell no reason that anyone would have wanted to hurt her."

"Yeah, it was basically the same for me. The body was completely untouched except for what Detective Carter already told us."

"She kind of seemed at a loss, didn't she?" Dean said.

"Yeah, I know the feeling."

Dean then sat up and blinked a few times before turning his head robotically to Sam. "What about Cas?"

Sam frowned. Castiel was their friend, an angel, very familiar with creatures even they, the Winchesters had never encountered, and therefore a very useful ally. But – "He's been a little twitchy lately. I'm not sure if – "

"Just call him, and if he doesn't show he doesn't show," Dean shrugged.

"No you don't," Sam shook his head and lifted his hands up in front of him. "You call him, it was your idea."

"You're the one who can't find anything on this thing!"

Sam pursed his lips and glared at his brother as he held back a sharp retort. Dean's technique concerning "the argument" was an art form. The longer it went on, the more illogical his argument became, and in the end, all you got for your trouble was a load of confusion and the desire to punch him in the jaw.

"Fine," Sam sighed and closed his eyes. "Cas, um, it's us. We're facing something here we've never seen before. If you're not too busy – "

"Not too busy?"

"I don't want to piss him off," Sam hissed.

"If you could come and help us out, that'd be great," Sam completed his unorthodox prayer and opened his eyes.

The only other person in the room was Dean, just as it had been before.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Looks like he's too busy." He lay back down on the bed in a huff as a man dressed in a loose-fitting suit and a trench coat came walking out of the adjoining bathroom.

Sam grinned. "You know, I think you wait a little on purpose, just to hear what we say about you when we don't think you're going to show up."

Dean shot up like someone had jabbed a pin into his back.

"Hello," Castiel said. "Thank you for giving me the option of not coming." He glanced at Dean before sitting at the table across from Sam. "What do you need?"

"Where did he come from?" Finch asked through John's earpiece.

John held a camera with a telephoto lens attached to it and continued taking pictures as he listened to the conversation between the now three men in the Winchester's motel room. "Nobody came in or out of the room," he said. He continued taking photo after photo of the man they called Cas as he passed the window.

"I'm sending you a photo. See if you can ID him."

"I'm on it."

"What do you need?" Cas asked.

"We've tracked something here, and we have no idea what it is," Sam explained as John listened. "Two bodies have dropped, and they have busted eardrums and a brain aneurism."

"And involuntary pooping," Dean added.

The line went silent for a short moment as Cas probably contemplated the situation. "Perhaps a witch?"

"You sound pretty hopeful," Sam replied.

"It's definitely something we know. I like things that I know," Dean said as he got to his feet.

"These cases are kind of clean for a witch, don't you think?"

Dean nodded. "Well, maybe it's a different kind of witch. One that doesn't like spewing bodily fluids everywhere."

"That does sound unlikely," Cas said.

Sam sighed. "Well, there's only one way to find out for sure if it's a witch or not."

"Finch," John said from his car that was parked across the street from the motel.

"James Novak," Finch said over the line.

"What?"

"The third man, the one they call Cas, I was able to identify as James Novak. Last known address was Pontiac, Illinois. But he's –

"Let me guess, he's been declared dead."

"Yes, leaving behind a wife and daughter. I've alerted Detective Carter. She's at the parking garage where Jackie was killed, and I have Detective Fusco at the bank in case the Winchesters decide to go back to either location."

"It's after hours, Finch. You think they'd try to break into a bank?"

"Mr. Reese, right now, I have no idea what these two are capable of."

"Three," John corrected. Right on cue, the three men exited the motel and got into the black Impala that was parked along the curb. "I don't know, Finch. I think we need to take a more aggressive approach with these guys. They're planning on killing whoever's responsible for Jackie's death."

"You mean the witch?"

John closed his eyes as he started the car engine and took a breath to keep his composure.

"We don't know that. Before we call the men in the white coats, we need to make sure of what they intend to do first."

"I want to make sure before anyone gets hurt," John said as he started following the Impala.

"Naturally."

The sun had set, leaving the city in a starless, overcast sky as the Impala pulled up next to the parking garage. It was decently lit, a few flickering lights here and there, but nothing seemed amiss as the Winchesters and Cas got out of the vehicle.

Sam and Dean dug around in the trunk for a minute, selecting whatever they might need. They shouldn't need much if they were hunting for hex bags, but you never knew. Cas leaned against the side of the car and watched a black Lincoln drive past and around the corner to the other side of the garage.

"Cas," Dean said. "We might need you to do a little reconnaissance."

Cas nodded and disappeared.

Detective Joss Carter sat alone in her car waiting for Finch to call her off so she could go home. She was parked on an outside row of the garage. Everything was quiet, and she was getting cold. She was about to call John and tell him that he'd have to come here himself if he wanted this staked out all night when a group of lights above her blacked out for a moment.

Carter sat in the semi-darkness, looking out her window as the lights came back on. It was at about that time that she heard a distant scream, bouncing off of the cement walls.

She scrambled out of the car, drawing her sidearm, and ventured slowly towards the center of the first level of the parking garage. The lights flickered overhead, creating shadows that leaped at her in her peripheral vision. The further she went in, the less light was available.

Pulling a small flashlight from her pocket, Carter held it in front of her with her gun.

"This is the NYPD," she announced to the shadows. "Come out with your hands where I can see them." She had little hope that her command would be heeded, but was thankful that the anxiety she was experiencing did not show in her voice.

The lights went out completely along with her flashlight. It flickered as Carter smacked it against her leg and shook it vigorously, but the light didn't return. She tossed the dead flashlight aside without losing her grip on the weapon.

Now the dark pressed in upon her, bringing scratching and whimpering noises echoing through the blackness. Carter ignored the noises, and kept her hands steady as her heart raced in her chest.

Detective Carter had been through a war; she'd seen enough things since working for the NYPD that would send your average civilian into an institution. She knew the difference between delusions caused by fear and actual scary people caused by reality.

This, unfortunately, was reality. Something was close by.

Carter moved past a thick support pillar and a couple of cars. She stopped when the darkness close by seemed to move. It could have been nothing. It was out of the corner of her eye that she saw the movement after all. But she focused on it, and although it was dark in the parking garage, there was something that was darker, if that were possible, very close to her.

She focused on it and narrowed her eyes. A faint outline of a figure came into view. It was massive.

The gun came up, and Carter's instincts kicked in. "NYPD, let me see your hands."

The figure did not move.

"Hands, now!" Carter demanded, her finger on the trigger.

It moved, faster than anything she'd ever seen. She fired off a round, but it had no effect. Carter was grabbed around her throat by cold, calloused hands and slammed hard into a parked car. Her windpipe was closing fast as it squeezed her throat with surprising strength.

The dark, hooded face came close to hers. "You have a beautiful soul."

Her eyes filled with tears as bursts of light flashed into her vision. Her feet were no longer on the ground, and her fingers pried at the hand around her throat to no avail. There was no one to save her. She was going to die, here, in this dirty garage, being choked to death by some jack ass in a Halloween costume!

Carter scratched and clawed, but the grip remained like a vice.

"Help – me," she wheezed quietly as her vision blackened.

Then, quite suddenly, someone else was there. Carter sensed him first before she tried to look. When she did so, all she saw was light. A bright white light filled the space they occupied. Carter squeezed her eyes shut as the grip around her throat loosened.

Whoever it was in front of her released a shrill scream that made her blood turn cold and Carter was freed.

Her feet landed back on solid concrete, and her knees buckled as she gasped for breath. The fall would not be pleasant, yet she knew it would be better than choking to death. But it never happened.

Something caught her. She was yanked to her feet, and pulled into an embrace.

"Hold on," a voice said in her ear as she felt a rush of air around her.

Carter felt her feet leave the ground once again, and gripped onto the clothes of whomever had hold of her. It lasted for only a second.

The next thing her bleary vision showed her was that she was outside the parking garage once again, breathing the night air, and looking up at a street light. She coughed and wheezed as her lungs tried to breathe in the entire atmosphere at once, and her rescuer pushed away from her.

She held onto his shoulders and blinked rapidly, her eyes trying to bring his face into focus.

"Are you all right?" The voice was low and rough.

He had dark, blue eyes, and dark hair, and was waiting for an answer.

Carter inhaled to answer, but only coughed again as her eyes streamed.

"Cas!"

The man held her steady as he turned. Carter looked as well. Two men were running towards them. They looked familiar, but she had more important things to worry about than remembering vague acquaintances.

"We can now assume that this is not what we believed it to be. The creature is in there," the man called Cas nodded to the parking garage when the two men reached them.

"Detective Carter?" The taller one, Agent Fox, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Did you see it, Cas?" The other one asked, Agent Lloyd. That's right, they were FBI. "What is it?" They didn't really look like FBI at the moment, in those boots, jeans and jackets.

Cas shook his head. "I can't be sure yet. I only heard Detective Carter ask for help."

"He was big. Really strong," Carter said. She released Cas, finding that she was able to stand on her own again.

"We'll check it out," Agent Lloyd said.

"Will you stay with her, Cas?" Fox asked.

"You will need me," Cas said flatly.

"We'll call," Lloyd yelled back as he was already entering the parking garage.

"I'm fine," Carter said, wiping her face and taking steady breaths. "Did you see his face? He was right in front of me, and I still couldn't see him for some reason."

"I did not see him either."

"Probably wearing some black out makeup or something. I've got to call for backup." Carter pulled her radio from her belt but Cas placed his hand gently over hers and the radio.

"This is beyond your police, I'm afraid."

"So you know what this is?"

"I'm getting an idea, yes."

Carter's eyes narrowed. Cas' face was unreadable, but she had a feeling that he was, or at least believed he was telling the truth.

"How did you get us out of there so fast?" She tested. "Did I black out for a minute there?"

Cas studied her, tilting his head slightly. "You were awake, Detective Carter."

"Then how – "

Loud shots cut through the air.

"That's gunfire!" Carter said, reaching for her sidearm, but the holster was empty. Her gun was still in the garage.

Cas' expression did not change. "I need to help them. Please, stay here."

He took a step away from her and disappeared.

Carter's legs felt weak again, and her breath shortened. "What in the – "