SECTION THREE

That night, in Dean's apartment…

Dean gulped down his Master Cleanse as he paced the upper-class expensive-looking living area of his house, "Holy crap."

"Yeah." Sam huffed as he almost stumbled to a seat, "I could use a beer."

"Beer?" Angela scoffed as she took her blazer off and draped it over the couch, "I'm feeling more whiskey than beer."

"Oh, sorry, guys. I'm still on the cleanse." Dean crossed the room to the kitchen to retrieve water bottles, "I got rid of all the carbs in the house."

"Hey." Sam turned to Angela as Dean handed out the bottles, "How the hell did you know that ghosts are scared of wrenches?"

"Crazy, right?" She shook her head before taking a giant few gulps of the water, "I don't even know. I just- I just grabbed it and swung."

"And nice job kicking that door too." Dean added, "That was very Jet Li. What are you, like a black belt or something?"

"No. I have no clue how I did that. It's like…" He looked between them, still with furrowed brows, "We've done this before."

"What do you mean, before? Like Shirley MacLaine before?"

"No. I- I just can't shake this feeling like I- like I don't belong here. You know? Like I should do something more than sit in a cubicle."

Dean shrugged, "I think most people who work in a cubicle feel that same way."

"No." Sam rolled his eyes at Dean as he stood up, "Well, look, it's more than that. Like, I don't like my job. I don't like this town. I don't like my clothes. I don't like my own last name." With a uff he walked over to the kitchen wall and leaned over it with a pained look, "I don't know how else to explain it, except that… It feels like I should be doing something else. There's just something in my blood. Like I was destined for something different." At the stretched heavy silence in the room, Sam looked over to the other two who seemed to be deep in thought themselves, "What about you two? You ever feel that way?"

Dean shook his head once in dismissal, "I don't believe in destiny."

"Destiny or not, I think we can all agree on one thing." Angel stood up and put her water bottle on the counter, "That we need to deal with the thing thats sitting right in front of all of us at the moment."

"Alright, so…" Sam cocked an eyebrow, "What do we do now?"

"We do what I do best, Sammy." Dean smirked, "Research."

They all stopped moving as Sam frowned at Dean, "Did you just call me Sammy?"

"Did I?"

"Yeah." Angel nodded once, "I think you did."

"Yeah." Sam glared, "Don't."

"Sorry." Dean sat at one laptop at a corner desk while Sam and Angel each sat on opposite sides of another table with their own laptops, "Jackpot."

Angel looked up, "You found something?"

"I just found the best site ever! Real, actual ghost hunters." He explained as the two of them walked over to see, "These guys are genius. Check it out."

Sam studied the screen, "Instructional videos?"

Dean had the website for Ghostfacers pulled up on his browser. Ed and Harry, of the Ghostfacers cast, were both wearing lab coats as they spoke.

"We know why you're watching."

"You've got a problem."

"A ghost problem."

"A ghost-related problem. A ghost- it's like a ghost-adjacent pr- it's like a problem that's- and the ghost is-"

"Whatever. You've come to the right place. The only decent place, really, because the Ghostfacers know how to solve it."

"Period!"

"Watch and learn."

"See, the first step in any supernatural fight: Figure out what you're up against."

Angel nodded, "Guess we need to find out who the homicidal ghost is."

Later on…

"P. T. Sandover. Died 1916." On Sam's laptop is an article about the death of Sandover's founder with a picture of the ghost they were dealing with, "Devoted his life to his work. No wife, no kids."

The article text next to the picture reads: 'Office 1444 was considered to be the center of the company's operations, with Sandover himself overseeing all details of any construction project the company undertook. Considered to be a difficult person to work for, P.T. Sandover had an exceptionally high standard of quality, often marching onto construction sites and halting all work until he personally inspected each aspect of the structure. Aiming for perfection is perhaps why the Sandover legacy is so impressive, dominating the industry with the scale and scope of its projects.'

"Used to say he was the company, and his very blood pumped through the building."

"Wow, okay." Dean whistled, "So slight workaholic. Maybe he's still here, you know, watching over the company, even killing for it."

"Probably, but check this out. It turns out this isn't even the first time people started killing themselves around here. It started in 1929." Angela turned her own laptop for them to see, "And I know lots of guys were jumping off highrises that year, but how many companies had a whopping seventeen suicides?"

"Phew. Okay, so P. T. Sandover, protector of the company. His ghost wakes up and becomes active during times of grave economic distress."

"Yeah, and the worst economic time since the Great Depression-"

"Is now. Yeah, now sucks." Dean scoffed irately, "My portfolio's in the sewer. I don't even wanna talk about it."

"The point is," Angel continued, "Sandover is helping the bottom line by zapping some model employees."

"Yeah. I mean, Ian and Paul…" Sam added, "It was like he turned them into different people."

"He turned them into the most perfect worker bees he could manage." Angel continued, "Only, maybe he went a little too hard because these guys killed themselves over minor mistakes."

"Oh, want another interesting fact?" Sam interjected, "The building wasn't always that high. Used to be fourteen floors. And the room where the ghost attacked, fourteen forty-four? Once upon a time, that was the old man's office."

The three of them walked back to Dean's computer to resume watching the Ghostfacers video.

"Once you've got that thing in your sights-"

"You kill it."

"Using special ghost-hunting weapons."

"First, salt. It's like acid to ghosts."

"Burny acid."

"Not LSD."

"No. It's a bad trip for ghosts. Next up, iron."

Sam looked over to Angel who was frowning at the screen, "That's why the wrench worked."

"Pure power in your hand."

"Dissipates ghosts instantly."

"Next little trick. We learned this from those useless douchebags-"

"That we hate."

"The Winchesters."

"Gun."

"Shotgun shell. Pack it up with fresh rock salt."

"Very effective."

"Winchesters still suck ass, though."

"Affirmative. Suckage major."

As the video played, Dean packed two pokers in a duffel bag along with a salt shaker and a few other items, "Where do we even get a gun?"

"Gun store?" Angel answered hopefully but then deflated, "Oh, wait… I think there's like a month-long waiting period or something…"

Sam nodded, "I think so."

Dean huffed in irritation, "Well, how in the hell-"

"I don't know. Seems pretty impossible, honestly."

"Right."

Angel nodded as they turned their attention back to the video, "Yeah."

"The aforementioned super-annoying Winchester douchenozzles also taught us this one other thing. You have to burn the remains."

"Okay, this next part gets a little gross. Sometimes you might have to dig up the body. Sorry."

"It's illegal in some states."

"All states."

"Possibly all states."

"Okay, wait!" Angel hurriedly paused the video before looking ot the boys in horror, "We have to freakin dig up a dead body and burn it?!"

Sam shook his head in worry, "Sandover was cremated."

"What?" Dean scoffed, "So what do we do now?"

Sam played the video so Harry could continue speaking, "Now, if the deceased has been cremated-"

"Don't panic. Just gotta look for some other remains."

"A hair in a locket, maybe. Fingernails. Baby teeth."

"Milk teeth."

"Genetic material. You know what we're talking about."

"Go find it."

"Fight well, young lions."

"Godspeed."

Later on, in the Sandover elevator…

"No, babe. I'm fine, I promise. We just-" Angel cleared her throat as she and the boys stepped into the elevator together, "We've got a bunch of deadlines coming up this week so- so it's going to be a long night."

"Oh… well, alright." Asas voice sounded worried but appeased nonetheless, "I mean, do you want me to come down there with coffee or something? That way you're not alone?"

"Oh, no no no. You don't have to do that." Angel answered to fast, "Um, a few of the tech guys are here and the upper levels. We're all good. I'll see you in a few hours." He started to protest but she quickly ended the call, "Yeah, love you, bye."

Dean's eyes widened, "Think he bought it?"

"Probably not, but we've got bigger things to worry about right now, right?" Her eyes widened as the elevator doors shut, "What's the plan?"

Dena took his phone out and motioned for them to follow his lead, "Set your cell phones to walkie-talkie in case we get separated."

Sam shook his head as they did so, "How the hell are we gonna find some ancient speck of DNA in a skyscraper?"

"I mean, we can start with his old office right?" Angel answered as she pressed button fourteen, "That old creepy storeroom."

Dean shook his head, "I was hoping you weren't going to say that."

In the storeroom…

The three of them were spread out around the room looking through all the things that were stored. Dean and Angela were both behind teh same shelves looking through different boxes while Sam was rifling through the desk in the front of the room. A spot that was easily visible through the door.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

At the sound of the guard's voice, all three of them startled. Dean dragged Angel down with him to duck behind some shelves. The move jostled her enough to lose her foot in her heels and nearly crash to the floor noisily if she hadn't stopped herself. She glared at Dena as Sam whirled around to face the guard.

Oh, nothing. I just-"

The guard grabbed Sam's arm and dragged him out of the room before slamming the door shut behind them, "You're coming with me."

"Man, listen. Look. It's okay. I- I work here."

"Whatever. Tell it to the cops."

The guard took Sam down the corridor and into the elevator to descend down to the lobby. Inside, the current-weather screen went static, and both men's breath were briefly visible. The elevator then screeched to a halt. The guard huffed and used his elevator key to open the inner doors. When that didn't work he pried open the outer doors only to realize they were currency stuck between two floors."

"Well…" He looked back at Sam momentarily, "Come on."

Sam frowned when something around them made an ominous sound, "What?"

"Last time this happened, it took them two hours to get here."

Sam shook his head and backed up when he insinuated crawling out, "Let's just wait."

With another eyeroll and without another glance, the guard crawled out of the opening, nearly kicking Sam in the face in the process. Whe he turned back, he motioned for Sam to follow.

"Seriously, I'll wait."

"Look." He leaned further back into the elevator, "I don't have the rest of my life, man."

Just then, the elevator jerked downward abruptly, decapitating the guard instantly. His blood sprayed all over Sams face and shirt, both shocking and disgusting him.

"Sam?" Angel's voice came from the phone, "Are you still here?"

Deans was next, "You okay?"

His hand slowly reached for his phone as the rest of him stayed motionless, "Call you back."