An 8-hour drive brings them to Fayetteville, Arkansas. Apparently, a guy can't collect supplies for his best friend (because it was not 'shopping') without his brother finding three mystical deaths two states over. Three cases of spontaneous human combustion within the last year.
The police have deemed all three deaths accidents.
Luckily for potential future victims, Sam isn't your average cop. During the few hours where Dean and Cas were out, Sam has put together a pattern. Last year, a guy died in a house fire. His sister inherited him. His sister goes up in flames. She doesn't have any other relatives, so all her stuff goes to a local thrift store. Employee at thrift store burns to death in the back alley. Lastly, a young man who recently visited the thrift store combusts.
Since house-fire-guy's body has been naturally cremated, they figure it's a haunted object, and they have to get there before anyone else goes up in smoke.
When they arrive, they split up. They drop Sam off to visit the morgue and find out if they have any personal belongings from the deceased. Afterwards, he's going to talk to the friends of house-fire-guy to try to identify any objects that might have been special to him.
Cas and Dean goes to start digging through thrift-shop-customer guy's things.
Except, when they arrive at the house, the victim's family is already cleaning out his belongings. A pickup is standing by the curb, half-filled by boxes, and what looks unmistakably like grieving parents are slowly carrying boxes from the apartment complex to the car.
"Damnit." Dean quickly gets out of Baby and straightens a few wrinkles in his suit while walking up to what must be the victim's father. There's a look in the man's eyes that only comes with great loss. Why did Sam have to go check out the first death? He would have been so much better at this. "Excuse me. Sorry to interrupt. Are you related to Nathan Sullivan?"
The father turns red-rimmed eyes at Dean. "Who's asking?"
Dean pulls out his badge. "Agent Nick Mason, FBI. And this is my partner, Keith Moon." Dean gestures at Cas, who's standing a few steps back. Cas has long since learned his lesson and shows his badge on cue.
"FBI?" The father scratches his forehead. "What do you guys want?"
"Mr. Sullivan, I presume?" Dean has to be sure. The father gives a small nod, and then Dean continues. "I know this is a very inconvenient time, but we need to go through your son's belongings before you take them away." Dean does everything to keep a straight face and not fidget with his hands, but it's not easy under the stern stare from a grieving father.
"Harold, what's going on?" Before Mr. Sullivan can answer, he is joined by a woman who must be his wife. She looks like a mess, not making this any easier.
"Apparently, FBI is here to look through all of Nath's stuff."
"The FBI?" Mrs. Sullivan's eyes become big with fear and tears. "Oh my God, do you think someone did this to my boy?"
Dean takes a deep breath. He feels awful to put Nathan's parents through this. "The Bureau only wants to make sure that your son's death was truly an accident. When something like this happens to someone so young, we want to be thorough."
"Oh. Thank you, that is very nice of you…" Mrs. Sullivan can't hold the tears in any longer and Dean can't stand her gratitude.
Mr. Sullivan, however, is not as easily persuaded as his wife. "How is this a federal case? Why is FBI involved?"
Luckily, Dean is saved from further explanations when Mrs. Sullivan slaps her husband's arm. "Harold! Let the gentlemen do their work. We owe that to Nath."
"Thank you, Mrs. Sullivan. We promise to be quick. However, we do have to get those boxes back in the apartment." Mr. Sullivan squints at Dean, clearly not happy with that announcement.
"My partner and I will carry the boxes for you." Of course, Cas being a literal angel would say that. Dean looks back at him with a look that he hopes portraits 'seriously?', but he's only met with Cas's stern stare.
Dean clears his throat. "Yes, of course."
-.-.-.-
As soon as the last box hits the floor, Dean rips off his suit jacket. "Damnit Cas, did you have to suggest running boxes up and down three flights of stairs in this heat?" Why did it have to be a building without an elevator?
"It was the least we could do for the family." Cas states, and Dean knows he's right.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Dean looks around at all the boxes. "Where the hell do we even start?"
The family had already packed all of Nathan's things, and for a small apartment like this, it was quite impressive how much stuff the kid had. Luckily, they had not moved any other boxes than the ones already in the truck.
Unfortunately, they didn't know anything about their son buying something from a thrift store last month. Dean could tell that Mr. Sullivan wanted nothing more than to expose their strange line of questioning, but Mrs. Sullivan's hopeful assistance kept the man quiet. Dean hates giving the mother hope of a better explanation than 'your son just burst into flames, sorry'. But 'your son got killed by a ghost attached to an object that he just accidentally bought in a thrift store, sorry' doesn't sound much better. At least they are hopefully keeping the parents from going up in flames too.
"Should we look for something antique?" Cas suggests, studying what looks like a well-loved book on theoretical music. "Since it's something second-hand, maybe it will look used?"
"The kid was a student. The only brand-new object in his place will probably be instant noodles." Dean opens the first box he lays his eyes on and sighs. "This is like cataloguing the bunker all over again. Where's Sam when you need someone to do the boring work?"
"By now, he is probably questioning the friends of the first victims." Cas answers the rhetorical question matter-of-factly. Dean can't help the eyeroll.
Dean digs into the box, finding a bunch of pictures, concert tickets, band T-shirts and similar articles. He flips through a couple of the pictures. Nathan is smiling behind a drum set. Nathan, clearly drunk, playing bongos at a party. Nathan with his arm around another guy who is holding an electric guitar. Dean feels a tightness in his chest. He might not understand 'theoretical music' or whatever the guy was studying, but looking at these pictures, Dean sees a carefree happiness based in music that he recognises from himself. If Dean had had a normal youth, he would probably still have skipped college, but he could see himself goofing around like this with a guitar or drumsticks in hand.
Dean drops the pictures back in the box and quickly closes it. He sets the box down on the floor so he can get to the box underneath. He finds a couple of band sweatshirts and a bunch of note sheets in this one.
Dean stops for a second, looking around the room again. There's one of those electronic drum sets in the corner. Probably the smallest drum set you can fit into a shoebox-apartment. Cas is working through his own boxes and is right now squinting at a poster paying tribute to John Bonham. Dean fights another pang of sympathy. "The kid was a drummer."
Cas turns away from the poster and looks at Dean, a question clear on his tilted face. "Are you saying this is Nathan?" Cas gestures to the poster.
The small, longing, painful tucks that Dean has been feeling in his chest are violently pushed aside by a near-heart attack. He fights to keep his voice even, but he fails towards the end. "Cas. That's John Bonham, Led Zeppelin, legendary drummer. No matter how talented Nathan was, he was no Bonham, alright? Dude, you should know this! Haven't I taught you anything?!"
Now it's Cas's turn to roll his eyes. "Did you have a point about Nathan being a drummer?"
"Yes, actually, I did." Dean takes out his phone and calls Sam, putting the phone on speaker. Before Sam answers, Dean points at Cas. "When we get back home, we're youtubeing Zeppelin concerts, you hear me?"
"Agent Bennington." Sam's FBI voice comes through the speaker.
"Hey Sam. You still with the first vic's friends?" Dean says. Cas takes a step closer to better listen in. It's not really necessary in this small apartment, but he does it anyway.
"Yes."
"Ask them if the vic was into music. Nathan studied music and played the drums. Being a student, maybe he bought some cheap music stuff at the store."
"Got it." There is a bit of noise on the line, and they can hear voices in the background, but Dean can't make out what they are saying.
"You think the other victims were into music as well?" Cas asks while they wait.
"I think, maybe the first guy was. The sister just took over her brother's stuff, and then the store took over hers. They probably didn't think twice about music. But Nathan must have bought something that he was into, so maybe he had something in common with the first vic. And since music and drums are all over this place…"
"It might be a possible connection." Cas finishes with what Dean can only describe as a proud smile.
Dean doesn't get to think too hard about it before Sam's voice returns on the phone. "Dean?"
"We're here."
"Joel wasn't into music." Dean heart sinks, but Sam continues. "But get this. He owned a bar that went bankrupt shortly before he died. The only thing he took with him from the bar was the triangle he used to call last round."
Dean snorts. "And that's just the kind of trinket a drummer might buy for his small-ass apartment."
"Not only that." Cas joins in. "In alchemy, the triangle is a symbol of fire. The symbolism combined with the death by fire and the emotional turmoil Joel must have felt in connection to losing his business might have fuelled the haunted object."
"Sounds like a lead. Keep looking. I'm on my way." Sam ends the call.
"Let's get digging." Dean turns back to his row of boxes. This is already a hot day and digging through boxes is harder than it sounds. Dean loosens his shirt cuffs and rolls up the sleeves.
They keep looking, a bit more urgently than before, now that they know what they are looking for. If only it had been a big here-I-am bass drum instead of a small easy-to-hide triangle.
Dean opens the top button of his shirt, trying to cool down by flapping the collar. Damn, he knows that his love for bacon and burgers isn't exactly an athlete's diet, but he's not in bad shape!
And then it dawns on him, and the sweat he feels on his back turns cold. Son of a… "Cas, do you feel hot?"
Dean doesn't turn around, but he can hear that Cas stops rummaging through his box. "No."
"Then we better search a little faster." Dean closes the lid of the box a bit more violently then necessary, bending the cardboard.
"Dean, what's wrong?" Cas is still not working.
Dean stops again and turns around. Apparently, he doesn't have to say anything. Judging by how big his eyes become, Cas must be able to see that Dean is feeling the heat. "Just feeling a bit hot. And not in the good way."
Cas immediately turns around and starts rummaging, now more franticly than before.
Dean opens the next box, and sweet Jesus, there it is. "Got it!" Dean reaches for the triangle, but the moment his fingers brush the metal, it burns. "Damnit!" Dean pulls back. But in that moment, burned fingers is the least of his problems. He feels his entire back burning.
"Dean!" Cas desperately calls his name, which only confirms what Dean can already feel and see; dancing flames right behind him.
Dean rips at his shirt to get it off, buttons flying everywhere. "Get the triangle! Get the triangle!"
Cas ignores his orders and instead grabs at Dean's shirt to pull it the rest of the way off. As soon as the fabric hits the floor, Dean starts stamping on it to kill the fire. Cas runs to the box that Dean had been going through and grabs the triangle. He hisses as the instrument burns him, but his grace immediately strengthens his skin to withstand the heat.
"No!" A gruff voice draws their attention. By the entrance door, a man covered in soot and angry red skin sneers at Cas.
"I'm sorry, Joel." Cas says. And then his eyes shine blue with grace, and the triangle starts melting in his hands.
Joel barely takes a step forward to stop the angel before he goes up in fire, leaving nothing but an angry burn mark on the floor.
The room is left filled only by the sound of heavy breathing. It takes a second for Dean to register that it comes from him. He has fallen to his knees, leaning forward on the floor. He tries to be as still as possible in order not to pull at the agitated, painful skin on his back.
A-blink-of-an-eye, and Cas is squatting down in front of him. "Dean, are you alright?"
Dean would normally play it cool, but; "It hurts, Cas." He barely bites out the words.
Cas moves around to look at Dean's back, and judging by the shocked sound that the angel can't suppress, the burning feeling of Dean's skin is also very visible.
Cas's hand feels cool compared to the burning sensation on Dean's back as he hesitantly puts it on Dean's shoulder. The healing is instant.
Dean takes a deep breath, enjoying how the skin on his back stretches effortlessly and pain-free. "Thanks Cas."
Cas's hand grips a little harder around Dean's shoulder now that he isn't afraid of hurting Dean. "Are you okay?" Dean knows that he's not referring to the physical wounds.
"Not the funniest triangle I've stripped for, if you know what I mean?" Dean looks over his shoulder, sending Cas a reassuring smirk. "But yeah, I'm okay."
Cas shakes his head at the Dean-typical answer, but a small smile plays on his face.
Dean looks down on Cas's hand, realising it is awfully close to the place where Cas had put his hand when they first met, the place where he left a bloody handprint half a year ago. Something tells Dean that it should make him uncomfortable to have Cas this close while kinda half naked. Especially when his mind simultaneously flashes to the bloodstained jacket that he still keeps in the back of his closet.
But it doesn't. The hand is warm. It's tender, despite being the rough hand of a soldier. It reminds him that Cas is really here, really back. Really alive.
Dean's staring and the long stretch of quiet must make Cas self-conscious of his hand because he suddenly pulls it back, slowly, apologetically. Dean tries to ignore how cold the spot suddenly feels. What the heck?
Cas gets up, and instead offers the hand to help Dean stand up as well. "Let's get out of here."
-.-.-.-
Sam arrives the moment Cas and Dean step out of the apartment building. Sam gives Dean a strange look, concern and amusement battling for dominance, as Sam looks at Dean's bare chest under his suit jacket. Both Cas and Dean send him reassuring smiles, so amusement wins over. "What happened to you? Did you decide to quit hunting and join Chippendales instead?"
"Jealousy is an ugly thing, Sammy." Dean squares his shoulders, standing proud in front of his little brother.
"The ghost tried to burn Dean." Cas looks contrite.
Sam's concern instantly quashes his amusement. "Dude, you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Cas took care of it." Dean nods to the angel in acknowledgement and gratitude.
"Good, that's good." Sam nods too. "So, you took care of the haunted object?"
"Yes. We just need to bring the apartment key to Nathan's parents so they can retrieve the rest of his belongings." Cas says.
They start walking towards the Impala. Sam still looks at Dean for any signs of discomfort, despite knowing that Cas have healed every little papercut Dean might have had. "You okay to drive?"
"I'm always okay to drive." Dean glares, then quickly replaces it with a smirk that warns Sam that he is about to hear something he really doesn't want to hear. "Takes more than a triangle to tire me out." With a wink, he gets in behind the wheel.