It was well past midnight when Caleb and Dean arrived in the sleepy town of Kalamazoo, a small town nestled in Michigan. They were both feeling the effects of a long road trip, their weary eyes searching out an appropriate place to bunk for the night. Finally spotting a vacancy sign right off the interstate, they pulled into that, grateful for the chance to rest and relax their itchy and tired eyes. Turning off his music while Caleb readied his ID to check in, Dean dreamed of a soft place to lie his head for the night.

Dean waited with their things while Caleb went into the front office and checked them in. While he waited, Dean made a check of their things to make sure they had packed everything they were supposed to. Over the years, he had learned the gist of what was appropriate for a trip and what was not. One of the most important was the intel, and the second most important was the arsenal. That was stashed in the trunk and would be taken in once they were assured prying eyes were not paying attention.

"Alright, we're in room eleven," Caleb informed him, as he effortlessly hitched his bag on his shoulder. "You okay? You seem kind of-"

"Tired?" Dean guessed.

"Yeah, I was going to say that."

"I am," Dean admitted, squeezing his tired and itchy eyes.

"Well, get some shut-eye if you can. Tomorrow, the real work starts."

As they walked toward their resting place, Dean made sure to let Caleb take point. It was a routine they had perfected over the years, and Dean was not about to ruin that normalcy. If Caleb noticed the kid acting differently than on previous jobs, he did not let on. For that, Dean was grateful. He craved to have a normal hunt with his confidante. He hoped this would be the start of a return to what was. With that thought running through his mind, a familiar ache to investigate started to settle inside him.

They couldn't do much under the cover of darkness. In the morning, they would venture into town and see if they could convince any of the locals to give up any new information. That was more Caleb's department than his, considering the limitations his age imposed upon him.

Inside, their motel room had an eighties design to it, and a center table that quickly became the focal point for their research. As he deposited the carefully put together articles and writings, Dean sank down into the nearest chair and he started pulling it all toward him. To the naked eye, it was a bunch of police reports and graphic coroner findings, but those critical details could mean the difference between a hit or miss.

"So give me a run through again," he said to Caleb, as he squinted his eyes at the black and white image of the place in question.

"Over a century ago, good 'ole Frank Sandstone died of natural causes. Nothing suspicious about his death. At the time. However," Caleb threw Dean a look. "Once folks started turning up dead at Henderson, some reporters started digging."

"And they know he did it?"

Caleb nodded. "Apparently, from all of the information I've gathered. It doesn't say much else, so that's why we're hitting up the library in the morning."

The library would be a perfect place to scrounge up local lore and the history of the place, especially something as infamous as the castle that had been blamed for over a dozen deaths over the ensuing decades.

"So we're either dealing with the spirit of the dude," Dean said, as he scanned the contents of the ancient newspaper article, "or another baddie entirely."

"Or both," Caleb remarked, as he checked the salt rounds in his gun. "It's not unheard of for two spirits to be haunting the same place or area. One could be benevolent. The other could be malevolent."

Dean nodded slowly, processing Caleb's words for fact. Over the years, he had been trained to look at things with a new set of eyes, to see things from a hunting perspective.

It had all been part of Dean's meticulous training under Caleb's care. While Dean excelled in the physical training of the job, he also liked challenging his brain to work in different ways, as he picked out the clues that most people wouldn't even dream of looking at.

"So we'll know more when we go poke around town?"

"Yeah," Caleb assured him. "In the morning, we'll go to the library to see what we can dig up, and then maybe go pay a visit to the B and see what we find there."

"Awesome," Dean replied in a slight sing-song voice. "Ready to hit the sack?"

Caleb nodded, as he scrubbed a weary hand over his face. "Yeah, I just have to hit the shower first."

"Kay."

"Throw me some of your soap?"

"Sure."

Like Dean and Jim, Caleb shared a similar distaste for the motel-issued soaps and shampoos, and preferred to use his own.

While Caleb was in the shower, Dean took that time to call Sam and check up on him, and then cleaned up their research from the table, and put it back where they had originally decided to store it. Once that was done, Dean did a mental check of the room to see if it might hold any of Caleb's triggers. Once he was assured that was likely not the case, he settled down on the bed. Knowing better than to put on music when the hotel was not as secure as their car or home, he resigned himself to listening to the rushing cars outside, and the baby crying in the room next door.

"You sleeping?" Caleb had gotten out of the shower, and was digging through his things for the salt.

"No," Dean shook his head. "About to."

"Yeah, me too," Caleb said, as he picked up the salt bag from his bag, and meticulously salted the door and one window in the room. "Just to be safe," he added, catching the questioning look Dean threw him.

"How was your shower?" Dean asked, as Caleb laid down in the bed next to his.

"Great. You know," he said, looking over at Dean as he switched off the lamp that stood between them. "I don't have a lot of room to complain about the motel soap."

"Why?" Dean asked, as he propped himself up on one elbow.

"Because in the detention center, they only had this one particular kind of soap, and it was awful."

"Was it?"

"Oh, man," Caleb said with a groan. "It was terrible . You never got clean, but maybe that's their intention."

Dean laughed, though uncomfortably. "Glad you're not in it anymore."

Boy was he ever.

"Me too."

It was not often Caleb opened up about his time in the jail. As it was, Dean knew only the most basic details about his time there, and that included all that happened with John. In the dark, Caleb's face was partially obscured by shadow, but what little he could make out, he knew Caleb was deep in thought over his time there. Deciding to be patient to see if Caleb would say anything more, he used that time to tuck his blade under his pillow.

"Sometimes..." Caleb pinched the bridge between his eyes. "It feels like this hole will never close up. It's like every arrow aimed at me has hit its target."

Dean almost did not know what to say. "And then the crap with Sammy." As if their family needed yet another reason to fear, the YED had stolen their sense of security in a personal way.

"It feels like...like I'm throwing out every lifeline to save myself from this pain, and I keep losing it."

Throwing himself off the bed, Dean perched on the side of Caleb's. Studying his face closely, he noted the veins that were barely bulging from his neck. He knew what that meant, and his heart broke in two for his guardian. "Are...are you seeing something right now?"

Caleb nodded, a slow jerk of his head. "John. His guts spilling on the floor." Clenching his eyes shut, Caleb's hand wound tightly around the blanket as his knuckles turned white. "The spirit...laughing."

"It's not real. You have to remember that. This panic attack will not define you, Caleb. You need to define it."

Caleb shook his head, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. "The hallucinations started right when the dreams did. I thought it was a fluke and it would go away, but it hasn't."

A realization was beginning to settle over Dean's heart as he stayed by Caleb's side. As much as he was stoked about investigating a haunted castle, he knew there was no way Caleb was in the frame of mind to attempt it. Wondering how best to let him know his suspicions, he did what he had been doing for months, and carefully handed Caleb a water bottle once his body started to calm down. Once the panic attack was through, it was not hard to see the physical exhaustion that had taken place.

"Listen...this job? It's not the right time, Caleb. I've been feeling it ever since we got here. It's way too much too soon."

"I think...we need to try, Dean."

Not particularly surprised to hear Caleb's refusal to turn down the case, he hesitantly nodded and tried to drop it.

AN:

This will definitely be a journey for Caleb. Healing is possible, but it will come in short spurts than anything else.