AN: So here it finally is. I've had so much going on this last month (moving to London, etc.), so I simply haven't had the time, and besides this chapter turned out to be a bitch to write. Sorry for keeping you waiting and thank you for your patience! Hope next chapter will be up faster :)

Warnings: Rated T for language (will later be rated M for sexual content)

I claim no ownership of anything but my imagination.

ALLONS-Y


Chapter Four

"I'm special agent Williams, these are my partners; special agents Phelps and Jackson. We would like to ask you a few questions."

Those words were spoken often that day as they moved around the jungle of officers, relatives, witnesses, and survivors from the crash. Castiel mostly just followed the two others, not saying much unless he was forced to, or he found it appropriate. The brothers seemed content with that, probably also remembering the time Castiel was "the bad cop". So now he did what Dean had suggested him to back then; he surveyed, as they talked to everyone that might seem to know just the slightest about the killed electrician or the train driver.

They had arrived at the town the night before, after an agonizingly long drive of 7 hours, despite Dean's promise of being able to make it faster. Though Castiel only found it annoying, it seemed to humor Sam in a jesting sort of way for some reason. Throughout the drive Sam had spent the time he wasn't driving on researching on his phone and scuffling around papers. A few papers slid down Sam's lap. He automatically leaned forward to pick them up, shifting his legs to the left, resulting in the rest of the papers sliding over the gearshift and pooling around Dean's feet. Dean swore loudly. "Damnit, Sam, control your freaking paper hell over there!"

The wheels had fretted against the asphalt, as Dean pulled over.

"Sorry," Sam apologized while he franticly tried to collect it all again.

But after that Sam had not put the papers away, though, which quickly turned out to be a mistake. A bored sigh had called Castiel's attention to Dean. He watched as the eldest Winchester began glancing at his brother, a childlike smile fighting to take over his face. Once he even glanced back at Castiel and grinned, though he didn't seem to be looking directly at him. He glanced at Sam one last time and whatever fight that had taken place in his head got settled. Dean suddenly opened his window wide, welcoming the wind to soar through the car and out through the fist broad slit in the window beside Castiel. The papers immediately took wing and for a odd period of time it felt like someone had let 20 doves free in the car. Sam screamed at Dean, and Dean started crying with laughter. He was forced to pull over once again. Sam drove the rest of the way.

Castiel had had plenty of time to repeat his encounter with Dean that day: From the training session to the wall-slamming in Dean's room and Dean's words. He repeated them over and over again in his head; how Dean had told him he couldn't redeem himself through self-punishment, and that being accepted in this family wasn't undeserved – which were contrary to Dean's behavior towards him up until then. Despite his latest words of good will, Castiel knew Dean was still mad at him. He hadn't looked him straight in the eye since their conversation, and he had barely spoken to him during the drive, but he hadn't resumed his hostile behavior either, and the outburst had proven that Dean would probably forgive him over time. My mind is just as messed up as the situation. The big brother's silence towards him made him uneasy. Under normal circumstances, Dean would have picked on him from time to time, jestingly pointing out what an ignoramus Castiel could be, and Dean wouldn't be afraid to look at him. Normal circumstances, Castile pondered over the choice of words. When had things last been normal between them? Castiel would just wish for this to be over soon. This dead zone where he was neither forgiven nor hated. He missed being close to Dean, he admitted to himself.

They arrived at the town around 7 pm and rented a room at a cheap motel called the Sleeping Rose, which apparently insisted on having flowers on every fabric to be found inside the building. Dean had moaned loudly in dismay as they had entered their room and were able to survey the flower stained couch, bed linens, towels and curtains. Castiel settled for a night on the couch as this motel didn't have rooms with three single beds. None of the Winchester's even suggested Castiel could just rent a solo for himself, which warmed him for some reason. The next day they set out to investigate on the scene of the accident. As it had only been two days since the crash and it wasn't a main rail track, the trains were still on the tracks - as well as scattered around them. The place had been swarming with technicians and policemen; all trying to figure out the cause of the accident themselves. The small party had searched the pitiful remains of the train cab, and had found no tangible evidence of use, but when Dean had pulled out his EMF meter it had gone crazy. Convinced that spiritual activity had taken place there, they had begun their routine questioning.

It all went agonizingly slow it seemed, until they met up with an officer named Hay at the police station. Officer Hay was a slim yet strong looking, middle-aged, black man, about Castiel's hight. His expression was soft, unlike most men in this business. The only tell of a life filled with rough experiences and tough decisions was the heavy wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead, which made him look older than he probably was. Through him, they discovered that the electrician, Boris McGorn had been well known for his violent behavior.

Hay sighed as he told them that 20 years ago Boris McGorn had beaten his wife to death. Hay himself had been quite new in the job at the time. He had been present as they had stormed the house after receiving worried phone calls from neighbors, who had heard screams. McGorn had been in prison for the last 19 years, but it hadn't exactly cured him of his violence, as he only a few months ago had gotten into a fight with two other men, according to the officer. "And the lucky bastard only had his gold tooth knocked out." He shook his head with sorrowful eyes. "I know not to get personally involved in cases, but if you had been there that day. If you had seen the things I he had done to that poor woman, you would agree that that man was a monster walking among us."

Castiel could easily feel the contempt oozing from Dean and Sam towards this Boris, and as he stood there; hands clasped behind his back and eyes squinting at the officer, he contemplated humanity's penchant for barbarian violence. He glanced at his partners; the two deadliest humans he had ever met. They had both killed far more than this 'Boris', and done far more gruesome things, but Castiel knew it was different. They were fighting for the right cause, and they both held goodness in their souls. There had been times in the past where Castiel had doubted his decision to take the brothers' side in the holy war, but he had always been able to just look at Dean; at his soul, and then know he was doing the right thing. That they were doing the right thing. Now he couldn't see their souls anymore, only their carnal bodies, but by now Castiel fully believed in them. In everything they were and stood for.

"And this man, this McGorn would you happen to know where he is buried?" Dean's face was a professional mask, perfected through years of practice.

"Oh, he wasn't buried, though. He was cremated." Officer Hay supplied.

"Cremated," Dean repeated with a tight smile at his brother, who returned it just as strained.

"And when was he cremated?" Sam asked, obviously hoping it had been as recent as today, meaning the crematorium would have done their job for them.

The officer shrugged, "About three days ago, I believe. I'm not quite sure. You'll have to ask someone else for a precise answer. Maybe the paramedics?"

A low rumble erupted from Castiel's insides, interrupting the interview. Surprised Castiel bowed his neck to look at the suddenly very independent unit of his body. For a moment it felt like it had come to life, his insides twisting oddly on themselves. Sam and Dean turned simultaneously and followed Castiel's puzzled look to his still growling stomach.

"Right," Sam concluded, turning back to the other man, "I think that's all we need for now. Thank you, officer."

They exchanged small nods before parting, and the three suited men exited the building, heading back towards the black Impala.

"Your thoughts so far, Sammy?" Dean squinted at the cars passing by, looking troubled.

"I still think it's the very vengeful ghost of Brian. I guess it must have just attached itself to something else."

Dean agreed with a low 'hm'.

They stopped by the road, waiting till there were no more oncoming cars before crossing.

"Does it not normally take years of solitude and refusal to acknowledge its death to make a spirit angry enough to commit murder?" Castiel inquired, as they surrounded the Impala. He had headed for the backseat, but stopped with his hand on the handle, looking across the roof at Sam, as he replied.

"In most cases, yes," Sam confirmed, opening the passenger door, "but this guy was already a prime psychopath while alive."

"Less talking - more getting your lazy asses in the car." Dean complained loudly from the driver's seat, where he was already seated, keys in the ignition, "It's long past lunch time and I'm starving."

Castiel's stomach gave another painful tuck at the mention of lunch, and he quickly got inside. As Dean turned in his seat to back the car out of its parking spot, he briefly looked at Castiel. Their eyes locked for the first time in what felt like centuries. It was a fleeting contact. Dean swallowed, looked lost, but the next second he was staring out the rear window again, nothing to be read on his face. Castiel submitted to looking at the seat in front of him instead, pulling his mouth slightly in frustration.

After the tediously long drive to the town, the ride to the local diner, called The Place felt like a flap of the wings. The small parking lot accompanying the diner was slightly packed, which, according to Dean, was a good thing: "Only quality attracts so many locals," he proclaimed. Castiel merely saw it as an unpleasant sign of a lot of people crammed together in a small space.

They sat down at a small, unoccupied table by the window: Castiel next to Dean on the slightly too short bench, which forced them to sit shoulder to shoulder. Dean made up for that by leaning forward across the table, talking with Sam about their representative diets.

"Man, how can you survive on vegetables? Everything you eat has zero energy. Why do you willingly torture yourself?"

"I'm just looking out for myself, Dean, as should you. With your eating habits you're more likely to die from a clot than a hunt."

"At least my "eating habits" keeps my blood sugar high enough to not sound like a grumpy bitch."

"Jerk."

Castiel shifted his focus from the two quarreling brothers and squinted at the printed display of the diner's dishes above the counter. He instantly noted they had burgers. He hadn't had one of those in years.

"Hey, boys. What can I do for you?"

Dean looked up, and at the sight of the waitress a charming smile immediately spread across his face. "Well, hello,"

Like a copy of a masterpiece could easily fool the common viewer, a man who had studied the painting his whole life would immediately be able to tell it was not the original, and right now Castiel looked at Dean and only saw a copy of his sincere smile. The spark in the man's eyes gave only a feeble taste of the light that would beam from him whenever he was truly happy. Castiel wallowed in the sight for a moment, an indefinable sorrow collecting at the core of his being, as he realized it had been a long time since he had last seen Dean smile sincerely.

"I'll have a Burger Special," Castiel cut in indifferently to answer the woman's question. As Sam then took over and ordered his food, Castiel noticed out the corner of his eye Dean was looking at him, unblinking.

He met the hard stare with a puzzled frown. Dean mouthed: Dude, what the hell? and made a small but hard gesture with his arms, only meant for Castiel to see.

As Castiel was not quite sure what he had done, he dared to voice the question aloud: "What's wrong?" Dean flinched and glared at him even harder, as the waitress turned to them again.

"Sorry?" She looked curiously between them.

Dean's eyes finally let Castiel go, and he resumed smiling his fake smile at the woman. "I'll have a Burger Special, too. Extra bacon. And a beer." The waitress scribbled the last order down on her paper blog, but instead of leaving she turned to Castiel again.

"Wouldn't you like something to drink?" Castiel was about to answer but forgot what he wanted to say, as all his attention was almost violently jerked to his shoulder. The woman's warm, ring-clad hand now rested there. Castiel stared at it, not knowing what to do. "Just water," his mouth simply replied. He darted his eyes upward for an instant before looking straight ahead. She had been smiling at him, a genuine one it had seemed.

She left them with a few cheerful words, another smile at Castiel, and a hand that took its time sliding off the shoulder. As Castiel looked back at Sam and Dean, it was two somehow similar, but yet very different expressions that met him. Sam looked happily surprised at him, where Dean looked as shocked as if had he just lost an arm wrestling to an old man.

"She was totally into you, Cas," Sam cheered.

"She just touched my shoulder. She wasn't inside of me." Castiel deadpanned, looking at the evidently delusionary man, who only grinned suggestively back at him. Hesitatingly he added: "She was trying to seduce me, yes, if that's what you meant."

At that Sam laughed out loud and even Dean cracked a wry grin, and said: "Dude, don't steal all the ladies, and then be so blank about it. You make us look bad."

Castiel looked surprised at the hunter seated so close beside him. He swallowed as he saw Dean's face. It wasn't the brightest, happiest smile - there was barely a glimpse of teeth, but it was real, and it shone in his eyes as well, and it was all fixated on him.

"What?" Dean fought off the stare, the smile faltering and dying.

Castiel had tons of things to say; questions flooded his head. Questions about Dean's constant change of hearts towards him, questions about why he received that smile and the pretty lady didn't. What Dean really wanted of him? Did he receive these treats of kindness when he did something right, and the anger when he made mistakes? He shook his head slowly, mouth gone dry, as he tried to remember what the conversation had been about. "I can't see why my presence could in any way make you and Sam look less attractive to others?"

"Cas, are you saying that you think Dean and I are attractive?" Sam's eyebrows rose to the middle of his forehead.

Castiel was vigilant now. Something about the question and the way Sam's eyes shone with humorous joy, told him he should pick his words with care now, or he might end up abashing himself. Dean leaned sideways against the window, looking at him as if he was the funniest thing he had seen in a long time. A closed-mouthed, yet broad smile that reached his eyes decorated his face.

"I am saying," Castiel began cautiously, "that you are not unattractive, and that being near me wouldn't change that fact."

Both Winchesters seemed taken aback by the answer, but both also fought with everything they had to stop their amused smiles from being too visible: Though that seemed pointless as Castiel had already noticed them and interpreted them: He had either said something wrong or extremely comical, both meaning he had made a fool of himself.

"All the homo," Dean said into his hands before clearing his throat, and Sam lashed out at him with a laugh.

"What?" Castiel furrowed his brows at the weird comment.

"Nothing." Dean looked out the window, eyeing the view as if it had suddenly become much more interesting.

Sam took over, saving the side of Dean's head from the almost physical stare of Castiel. "What Dean meant before was just that if someone in a group of people looks really good, it might make the others look less good, because they will be compared to the really good-looking guy."

It made sense in that example, but that didn't explain reality. "But I'm not any more good-looking that you?"

They both looked almost fondly at him now.

There was a pause as the waitress came back with their orders, asked if there was anything else she could do for them, as she once again almost unnoticeably touched Castiel's shoulder. He moved uncomfortable at the contact. As she left again, she cast a glance back at the table, smiling at him.

"Obviously she thinks so," Sam noted with a smirk and Castiel just stared bewildered at his burger.

"Damn, Cas, deep down you really haven't changed." Dean grinned and took a sip of beer.

Castiel's head snapped to him, and he starred with what he knew was probably too much intensity, but right now he didn't care. Had Dean just insulted him or complimented him? Dean glanced at him, but didn't linger, as he had now also picked up his burger that apparently acquired his full attention. Castiel noticed Sam looked at him with squinty eyes and furrowed brows. He could feel the tension that had settled over the table, too, but much like Castiel, he couldn't quite put his finger on what had happened exactly.

"So the ghost; what are we gonna do about it?" Castiel had finally picked up his burger himself and taken a bite, his mouth full when he spoke.

Sam answered: "We need to find out what the spirit's attached to now. If he's left some of his body behind somehow."

Dean swallowed his mouthful of burger. "You know, being hit by a train is said to be a messy affair: Smashed bodies and limbs being ripped off." He held a suggestive pause, "I think we should have a look at the autopsy report; see if anything was missing."

Sam agreed before diving into his turkey salad again. Castiel moved slightly in his seat to get closer to the table, and his left knee bumped against Dean's right. Seeing as they both now sat as they liked, Castiel thought no more of it, and didn't move his leg again. Beside him Dean stilled mid-chew. He sent Castiel a quick glance and looked at the table as is he could see through it at their touching legs. He pursed his lips slightly, but then dropped his eyes back to the burger and started chewing again, pretending like nothing had happened.

The white coat clad man turned back to them, examining the file in his hands. "What did you say you were looking for?"

He sent them a quizzical look over his slim glasses as he handed the file to Castiel.

"We didn't," the warrior said, and instantly received a shut-your-mouth stare from Dean, as the doctor's eyes shifted uncertainly.

"The body's condition," Dean smiled a bit too forced in an attempt to delete the effects of Castiel's reply. "Thank you." The man seemed to let Castiel's rudeness pass, and smiled back at Dean.

Castiel quickly copied the polite words, but the man didn't look his way anymore.

The first thing they had done after arriving at the hospital was to double check the date of the cremation. The doctor had not only provided them with the right date but also with the precise, but rather indifferent minute. It had indeed been three days prior, so they had now moved on to the next possible option. That a body part had been torn off and thus avoided cremation and kept the spirit bound to the earth. Castiel opened the file, his eyes roaming over the words and Dean and Sam joined in behind him. Quickly Sam's hand shot forward, pressing against a section on the page.

"Here," he breathed. For a second there was complete silence, except for the paramedic who had returned to his desk, trying to look busy tidying it up, while in reality he kept a curious eye on them.

Castiel lifted his eyes abruptly, catching him looking at them. The paramedic swallowed nervously under the stare and quickly turned away completely.

"According to this, they succeeded retrieving the entire body. No limps or any other body parts were missing." With a frustrated grunt Sam took the file from Castiel, desperately flipping through it. "We must have missed something."

"Or maybe this just isn't our guy?" Dean suggested.

"Who else would it be?"

"Abraham Lincoln. How would I know?" Dean retort frustratedly.

"Wait." Castiel stopped Sam from turning another page. "Right here; this is all the things that were found on the body." He examined the list while Sam looked on in curious anticipation.

Castiel's finger pressed heavily against an item almost at the bottom of the list.

One gold tooth in a leather string.

Dean moved closer. "Wait a second… didn't that Hay officer guy tell us that our electrician had his own gold tooth knocked out recently."

"He did," Castiel replied, examining Dean's reaction. His friend exclaimed a short, victorious laughter and gave him a single, firm pad on the shoulder.

Within minutes this new information had carried them into the Impala and sent them on their way to the local police station again. As they entered the building they were greeted by a surprised-looking Officer Hay. "Welcome back, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"

Dean and Castiel took a moment to survey the surroundings, while Sam stepped forward, his hands casually pocketed, clearly feeling in complete control of the situation.

"We're just here to have a look at some of the evidence," he said, looking as relaxed as ever, and not giving anything away. Castiel regarded him interestedly. No matter how many times he had witnessed them doing this part of the job, it sought to astound him time and time again how well these men delivered their lies. How easily it befell them.

The officer furrowed his brows in confusion. "The evidence of the Brian McGorn case?"

"The case of his death last week, yes. We believe you found some personal belongings on the body, and we'd like to take a closer look."

Castiel's gaze shifted slightly to catch the reaction of the officer. He liked him and found it ill to lie to him, but knew it was best not to tell the truth. He had previously experienced people accusing him of being mad or, on rarer occasions, just an idiot.

The officer motioned for them to follow as he left the reception hall. "Honestly, I have no idea why the FBI is looking into this case. We've checked up on Steve Haming, the engine driver who hit him. We haven't found any evidence it was either homicide or negligent homicide. Anyway the guy's dead now, so even if we were to arrest him…" he trailed off.

While he talked, he led them from the reception hall and into the heart of the building, snaking through twisted hallways, passing a dozen small offices and through a bright room with a table placed in the middle, before they entered the file storage room. It was a hard, windowless room crammed with tall steel shelves loaded with folders, briefcases and boxes in all kinds of sizes and shapes. The whole lot was dimly lit by three or four fluorescent tubes hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the rows created by the hoarded evidence.

"Does the FBI believe this case is connected with the train collision? I mean; same driver, same railroad."

And same train, Castiel added in his thoughts. "I'm afraid we cannot share that kind of information," he said evasively.

Officer Hay looked taken aback. It was the first he had ever heard Castiel say. Beside the officer stood Dean. He gave his friend an astounded look and the corner of his lips twisted upwards ever so slightly, but the 'agent' quickly regained his composure.

Hay looked somberly at Castiel. "Of course, it wasn't my intention to pry into FBI businesses."

Castiel accepted the undeserved apology with a faint nod, contemplating his own developing skills at deception and how little pain lying now caused him. He remembered the first time Dean had taken him along on one of his cases, telling him while he made him look presentable that if humans wanted something, they lied to get it. He hadn't really grasped the concept of it then. The officer began searching the shelves, and a few silent moments later they were lead back out in the previous room with the table in the middle. Castiel glanced up at the skylight above them through which a milky sunlight shone. He watched as it fell a few feet before colliding with the cold, electronic lamb light and was fought back and kept in check. A small box marked '#149003 – McGron, Boris' was placed on the table in front of the three suited men.

"If you need anything, you just let me know. I'll be just down the hall, to the right." He looked expectantly at them, as if he awaiting a question that never came, but at Sam's 'thank you', he withdrew and left them alone with the box.

"If I didn't know better I'd say he's as green as they get. I've never seen a greater sucker for the FBI," Dean remarked with highly raised brows in an unimpressed fashion.

Castiel frowned. "It's because he trusts us." They all fell silent for a moment. Then Sam decided to slowly coaxed the lid of the box and they all leaned across to get a better look inside, the slightly uncomfortable atmosphere of guilt forgotten.

There were only a few items inside, all stuffed in their own little transparent bag. The tooth was lying in one end. With cautious fingers Sam picked it up and held it before his eyes, turning the bag as he examined the shiny object. He glanced sideways at Dean, and whatever he saw there made him fold the bag once and hide it in an inner pocket of his suit.