A/N - I'm baaack! Sorry its been a while, my life kinda gets taken over by work. I've been writing, just not publishing. Also I had some writers block moments trying to work out where I was headed as well as having the self-doubt moments that I'm so good at! Hope you enjoy the next couple of chapters.

A/N 2 - there are no more incidents of Dean singing you'll be happy to know! :)

Warning: brief reference to suicide in this chapter.

Chapter Five.

Shit, Dean thought to himself as it dawned on him he might not actually get out of the ethereal clutches around his throat. He was beginning to feel more and more lightheaded by the second. His eyelids became heavy as the spots in his eyes began to almost fully cloud his vision…

'Dean!'

The sudden, familiar bellow prevented him from fully succumbing to unconsciousness and he snapped his eyes open. Or rather, he tried to and failed miserably.

A loud crack of gunfire erupted followed seconds later by an inhuman screeching sound as the spirit dissipated for the second time that afternoon. The grip on Dean's throat vanished instantly and he felt a sharp sting in his chest before he slumped to the floor, the room spinning faster than it did after a marathon drinking session.

'Dude, are you alright?'

He glanced up to see Sam crouched before him, shotgun gripped loosely in his right hand. Dean took a moment or two to regain his senses before summoning as much strength as he could and punching Sam square on the jaw.

Sam stumbled onto his backside, his free hand instinctively drawing up to the side of his face which was already flaming red from the blow.

'Dean, what the hell?' he grumbled, his voice slightly muffled as he rubbed the side of his face.

'What the hell took you so long?' Dean snapped back, standing lethargically to his feet. 'And you hit me with stray rock salt. Man, that stuff stings.'

Sam could feel himself just staring at his brother as he dusted himself off and headed for the door. Dean was right; his reactions had been all over the shop on this case. He needed to get a grip. Dean turned in the doorway and shot him a look that said 'well, are you coming or what?'

Reluctant to piss his older brother off any more than he already had, Sam quickly scrambled to his feet and followed Dean out of the room and down the stairs.

'OK, so I say we head to the library, find out any girls who died in this dorm in the last decade,' Dean said, finally breaking the awkward silence as they reached the Impala outside.

Sam raised an eyebrow as he stopped and turned to Dean. 'Why the last decade?'

'Chick was wearing a concert t-shirt circa 1999,' Dean said, somewhat exasperatedly.

Sam just looked at him.

'What?' Dean shrugged, his palms turned upward. 'I'm not just a pretty face.'

'I don't know if I'm more stunned by your observance or the fact you suggested going to the library to research before I did,' Sam said, an attempt at humour.

Dean rolled his eyes and pulled the driver side door open with a creak before pointing an authoritative finger at his brother.

'And don't think we're not going to talk about this later, I don't know what the hell happened to you in there Sammy, but it sure as hell isn't happening again!'

Sam stood silent for a few seconds as Dean climbed into the driver's seat and set the Impala rumbling to life. He sighed suddenly feeling a sense of dread washing over him. He knew he had been stupid and if he was honest, it had been the kick in the ass he had needed.

He turned to open the passenger door to the car when something caught his eye. He glanced towards it, across the street. There was nothing there.

He could have sworn that, for a split second, he had seen the flapping of an all too familiar trench coat.

Before Sam could begin contemplating answers to the multitude of questions he had about Castiel's whereabouts and why he could possibly be watching them, Dean revved the engine of the Impala. The angry rumbling of the car clearly reflected his brother's mood. Sam climbed in and shut the door just in time as Dean slammed his foot on the accelerator and they sped away from the sorority house.

X X X

Castiel sat motionless on the park bench, silently observing the families that came and went. The events of recent days plagued his mind, so uncharacteristic for him that he felt a sense of something he couldn't describe. Unease? Fear? It was a human emotion; something that was foreign to him, spending too much time with the Winchesters had probably affected him.

He hadn't yet been successful and he was accustomed to being able to carry out a task or a mission much faster than this. The thought added to the growing list of things he was feeling. This emotion was far easier to identify, he had seen Dean display it more than once – he was frustrated.

He didn't have long before the soul disappeared entirely.

Sam had almost seen him watching them, he was sure of it. The look of surprise on the young mans face as he had glanced towards him across the road confirmed it. Castiel knew they would be wondering where he was, what he was doing. The five voicemails from Dean said it all. Sam however, much to Castiel's surprise, had not called. He had expected that Sam would want to know the girl's resting place so that he could follow the usual human process of saying goodbye. He had not. If Sam was moving on already, it would not help Castiel to complete his mission.

Castiel stood as another feeling joined the unease and frustration.

Confliction.

Did he continue on this path alone or was it time he asked the Winchesters for help?

He had received strict instructions not to reveal too much but Castiel found himself doubting, not something he took any joy in.

Should Sam know his destiny?

X X X

Dean's eyes were stinging. The glare from the computer screen and two hours of scrolling through newspaper articles was taking its toll. Sam was sitting somewhere on the other side of the library leafing through books of death records from the last decade. Dean would take computer glare over dust mites any day of the year. It also meant he did not have to deal with Sam's sullen vow of silence that he had suddenly descended into.

Dean sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose closing his eyes for a moment. His head hurt and he suspected it was not from all the reading. It was the same headache he had had since he was about ten years old. Since his father had handed the task of protecting Sammy over to him. It was a task he had taken on unconditionally but sometimes he couldn't help but resent it – it wasn't exactly an easy one and it had become much harder in recent years. Some days more than others.

Today was one of those days.

He swivelled his chair around to look down the length of the small local library. Sam was sitting on a brown leather chair, so low that it gave his legs the appearance of being twice as long as they already were as he sat with them sprawled out in front of him.

Sam had a large bound volume of city records perched in his lap but he didn't appear to be reading it. He had one elbow resting on the chair arm, his cheek leaning on his fist as he held his cell phone with his other hand. At first Dean thought he was texting but on a second glance he realised his brother was simply staring at the screen.

With another heavy sigh, Dean rose from his seat and quietly crossed the gap between them with quick, stealthy steps. Sam didn't appear to notice his brother's arrival; he was clearly engrossed in his phone as Dean stood to one side and craned his neck to see what was so interesting.

It was a picture of Sam with Molly. From the way they were positioned in the photograph, it appeared that Molly had taken it at arms length. Dean couldn't help but smile sadly and any irritation he had felt towards Sam's behaviour today began to dissolve. He moved into a crouch beside him.

The movement made Sam twitch suddenly and he slammed his cell phone closed. He turned his head to look at Dean, an expression of surprise on his face. A brief second later and Sam had regained his composure, returning his expression to one of indifference.

'Hey,' he said, Dean noticed the slight croak in Sam's voice.

Sam straightened up in the chair, clearing his throat knowing that the longer they remained silent the more likely Dean was going to start the 'what the hell happened back there' conversation. Sam was not ready for that conversation.

'Um, I think I may have found our spirit,' he said pointing to the page before him, running his finger over the words as he read. 'Caroline Gunner aged twenty died in 2000 of asphyxiation from hanging.'

'She died in the sorority house?' Dean asked.

Sam nodded. 'Did you find anything in the newspaper records?'

Dean shrugged. 'They all started blending in to one another after a while. I'll run a search on that name.'

Sam watched as his brother stood and almost jogged back to the computer. He sighed wishing he could explain himself to Dean in a way that wouldn't end in him getting a verbal ass kicking. Not that he didn't deserve one.

It didn't take long for Dean to come rushing back with a printout. Sam was almost impressed with his brother's efficiency.

'Ok, Caroline Gunner hung her self from the first floor of the sorority building. She had a history of drug abuse and called her ex-boyfriend shortly before taking her life. Andrew Danforth said 'She called me to say it was the only way she could move on'' Dean read aloud from the paper.

Sam felt his blood run cold at the words. He knew his face had paled by the way Dean's left eyebrow twisted in puzzlement.

'What is it?'

'Does it say where she's buried?' Sam asked completely avoiding the question.

Dean glanced at the report.

'Yep, local cemetery.'

Sam stood up and forced a smile, adding a comedic tone to his voice. 'Grab your torch and rock salt!'