It had been months since Dean saw the salvage yard. Sam had taken the first free ride he could get, and John had jumped ship. It left him floundering in reality as he tried to use hunting as a means of normalizing things. He hadn't wanted to ask for help, but the case was too big for him, right now and he needed advice, if not a second set of hands.

"So what is it, boy?" There was a dull thud as Bobby set the bottles down, necks clinking together before he separated them to offer Dean a beer. "We talking ghost?"

"I don't know, Bobby. It sounded like a whole mess of them." The case file lay between them on the table, dishes from lunch pushed aside to let them spread the interviews and papers out. "At first they were just death echoes. But then… Well, some ghost died hanging and some poor sap gets phantom rope at the same tree. A guy was crushed when a barn collapsed, and some dude ends up crushed in the first floor of his office building."

"So you're saying that these victims are dying the same way the echoes did."

"Yeah. 'Cept, the whole town changed in a hundred years. The hanging tree was chopped up for lumber, but some guy is found in the field with a hundred-year-old rope around his neck where the stump is. There's an office where the old farms used to be. Whole downtown is a mess of history and today, and there's no telling where these things are popping up next."

Bobby had heard about the strange deaths, but hadn't looked into it. He had a business to run alongside the hunting, and there were letters starting to pour in from schools for his boy. It was easy to just sit back, sometimes, and just let another hunter handle the case. "And it's just echoes?"

"Man, I thought so, Bobby. I really did." Dean glared at his beer, frustrated that he didn't have an answer to this yet. Hell, the only reason he had let himself leave the case was because everything seemed situational— someone saw an echo, someone died the same way— and that meant that he might have some time before the next victim. Enough time to get help. "But echoes don't kill like this. Or at all. Like, ever."

"Do the victims see the echoes?"

The voice was rougher than Dean remembered, and he had to turn to make sure that it was Cas coming in, dressed down and carrying a near-empty messenger bag. There was a brief moment where Dean couldn't reconcile the young man in the doorway, looking curious, and his memories of the scrawny, quiet kid Sam was friends with.

"Yeah. So far, that's the only connection." It had been hell trying to track down the last sights of a dead man, but Dean was persistent when he wanted to be. "Hey, Cas."

"Hello, Dean." A couple of envelopes joined the case file on the table and Cas pulled out the extra chair. "Maybe they're death omens? What other connections are there?"

"You're not involved, boy." Bobby frowned, but it was a half-hearted reminder now— he trusted Dean not to drag Cas into a hunt. "These acceptance letters?"

A nod and Cas pulled the file towards him. "I have an invitation to visit Stanford, Boston, and Cornell. There's scholarship information with them." He ran a finger over two of the police reports about the victims, cross-referencing some of the information. "They went to the same church."

Dean nodded, "So? They were in the same neighbourhood."

"A church that received lumber for repairs from the historical society."

"What? Dude, how could you possibly know that?"

"I had an essay on American folklore and chose haunted buildings. Our Lady of Fatima came up in my reading."

"And you remember where they got building materials?"

For a moment, Cas looked confused. "It was part of the hauntings, Dean. The stories were very specific about the lumber from the tree being the source of apparitions in the church."

"So… you did my case for a homework assignment?"

"In essence, I suppose so."

"Dude, you're a freak."

"I'm aware of that, yes." He pushed the file away and retrieved the envelope stamped with Stanford's seal. "I think this may be the best choice."

Dean grabbed the envelope before Bobby could comment, taking a look over the invitation to visit the Palo Alto campus. "Sam's heading there. Got a free ride and everything."

Bobby harrumphed, letting the boys read over the correspondence and invitations as he cleared the case file off the table. "Don't go giving Cas ideas, Dean. It's a matter of money, right now."

"I could at least see the campus and talk to admissions."

From the tone, Dean could tell that this was a topic that they must have been a common one recently. It's not the sort of conversation he had ever expected to be present for, even if Sam and John had a variation of it once a week before everything had fallen apart. It was the sort of tone that was tired and hesitant, acknowledging that there was a very slim chance that anything other than "no" would be the answer. Dean didn't know what it was, but the downcast defeat on Cas' face spurred him into action.

"Hey, I'm heading that way after this hunt; I don't mind the drive." Dean grinned, checking out the second letter that came with the one from Stanford. "Hell, if you've got other schools on the list, I can take you. The company would be nice."

Bobby glared at Dean as he started the table clean-up. "We'll see."

Dean offered a shrug, fully aware that he could wheedle and promise and cajole Bobby into letting him drive Cas around. He was the one with loads of free time and an open road, after all. And, he was never, ever going to admit that he missed having a kid— Sam's age and a geek— in the car. It'd be good company for a while. Instead of acknowledging any of that, he leaned over the table and pushed the case file towards Cas again.

"So how do I gank a death omen?"

—

"You and Sammy still talk?"

"Sometimes. We trade emails."

"Good." Dean paused, a bottle of water almost to his lips. The porch caught all the warmth during sunset, so he had dragged Cas out there to catch up. "You should go to Stanford, too."

"It's a good school."

"Sam just hopped on the first ride out. Dad signed all the papers though. He probably will next year, too."

"He won't need to. Sam's eighteen."

"Didn't think of that."

Dean liked the salvage yard. Bobby had offered him a legitimate job there more times that he could remember, but the open road was just too much of a temptation. And hunting. There were a lot of things that Dean Winchester would never admit aloud, and the fact that he actually liked hunting and killing things— being a hero to someone— was a piece of honesty he could never let slip. To everyone else, he was content to just be a rough-and-tumble guy who drank too much, fought too much, and hung out with the wrong people.

He never actually understood why Cas was so quick to give him the benefit of the doubt and trust that he was going to pop back to the Singer household sooner or later for a break.

"You're going to be eighteen soon, right? You can pick whatever school you want."

"I respect my dad's judgement on the matter." The wood of the porch creaked as Cas shifted, stretching out his legs and resting his feet on the steps. "But I'll see how the campus tours go."

"He's letting you go?"

"I persuaded him to see logic."

"So you were a sneaky bastard."

The smirk was all Dean needed as confirmation and the next few moments passed in a comfortable silence. There was a scrape of metal on metal from somewhere in the yard, which alerted the dog, but it was a peaceful evening. Dean had missed times like this, even though he'd never trade in a star-filled sky out in the middle of nowhere for the lights and noise of Singer Salvage.

"So when do I get to drag you around the country?"

"After your hunt."

"Sure you don't want to come on that?"

"Do you want dad to kill you?"

The noise of disapproval was low in his throat, caught somewhere between a scoff and a tsk. "Bobby is such a freakin' mother hen. So I'll pick you up on my way through. We run off and say hi to Sammy, then where?"

"Cornell. Maybe Florida."

"Dude, not Florida. There are some fucked up people there. I had a banshee case there, and the bitch would just not shut up. I'll take you somewhere more fun than Florida."

"We're going to Cornell."

"Fine." Dean tried to think of what fun things he could drag Cas to between Palo Alto and wherever it was Cornell was supposed to be. A handful of roadside attractions and amusement parks came to mind, but he figured that Cas was more the museum sort. "Ever been to New Orleans?"

"I hear it's very historic, and has a great mix of cultures."

Dean grinned and offered the water bottle to Cas. "It's a fun place. We're going."