Mid-week update, Happy 4th of July to my fellow American readers! The schedule's a bit off because I'll be on vacation this weekend (getting on a plane, let's hope it goes better than Dean's last plane trip), and didn't want to make you all wait another week, so here's a longer chapter to hopefully make up for it. The next update is scheduled for next weekend!

Thanks to everyone for reading, following, favoriting, all of that, it really does make me smile. To ThornsHaveRoses, TXKimsonFan, VegasGranny, DearHart, BaldiDaughterChevy, and Celtic Knot, I've said it before and I'll say it again, thank you from the bottom of my heart. Reviews are morale and confidence boosters, and I love hearing your thoughts. Let's see how many of you were right about the 'milk run' ;)

Still don't own Supernatural. Still eagerly awaiting season 14

They left the bunker twenty minutes later, packing their usual duffels loaded down with iron, salt, and rock-salt loaded shotguns especially. Dean passed off his laptop to Sam as soon as Cas had brought it over, giving Sam a chance to look at the tabs Dean had bookmarked and left open about the case. Still, he verbalized the generalizations he could remember so Cas wouldn't have to read it over too.

"So, killings started four days ago, which also happens to be the day a one James Stevens hung himself in his cell two months into his sentence for murder," Dean summarized as they drove, Cas listening from the back and Sam going over the articles in front. "All the victims have been members of the police force that brought him in or were present at the scene. Some vics survived the attacks, some not, the ones that did are in the hospital for third degree burns."

"From a handheld lighter, for one, a freaking…toaster for another," Sam muttered, shaking his head as he read through some of the more specific things.

"So all items that can cause a burn injury, but are unlikely to do so at such high capacity, and all happening to connected people," Cas nodded along in understanding.

"Right. Basically, Stevens was a guy with some issues and set fire to his house-"

"Allegedly," Sam cut in, still reading.

"Whatever, he got time for it, set fire to his house and his wife died in the blaze. Cops show up, he's got no alibi for where he was, gallons of gas were in the back of his car along with some empty cans, and he claimed to not know what had happened," Dean finished. One of the articles had pictures of the burned out structure, though it was hard to tell it was even once standing with the amount of charred material that had taken the place of the building. Apparently it still hadn't been completely cleaned up, given the fact that it was a crime scene and had been used extensively in the court case that followed.

Sam clicked on another article and read for a moment before he looked back up at the road in front of them. "He had charges before. Drunk and disorderly, fighting, public intoxication, petty arson…but nothing solid to link him to the actual crime that killed his wife."

"It sounds fairly open and shut, as you would say. A common criminal went too far, killed someone he cared about, and felt guilty afterwards," Cas said, not getting the point that Dean knew Sam was going to bring up next.

"Jury and judge thought it was open and shut, got life in prison," Dean added.

"Yeah, but it's all based on circumstantial evidence and past records, from these articles alone there's holes," Sam argued, and Dean raised a hand from the steering wheel to point at his brother. His little brother's lawyer tendencies were still popping up, a decade after he had left Stanford. Good to know.

"Vengeful spirit. Say it wasn't him, he got blamed, nobody listened, violent death, and now he's taking it out on the people that wrongfully put him there."

"Makes sense," Sam nodded back. "The officers that survived and are able to talk all reported strange electrical events if they were inside, and a noticeable temperature drop, both signs of a spirit, but no one actually saw anything."

"No one that survived," Dean added in a muttered tone. In only a few days, the case already had a body count and was gearing to take more.

"So, in theory, after we burn his bones, then the killings and injuries should stop, yes?" Cas inquired.

"Exactly. Thing is, these things happen twice a day, morning and night, same time Stevens died. The deputy this morning was making hard-boiled eggs for her kids at home for them to take to school before she left for work when the stove flared, massive burns everywhere, and there's no sign of something wrong with the gas main," Dean relayed the article that he had found in the first place which had led him down the hellish, fiery rabbit hole.

"What time do these events occur?" Cas asked.

Sam clicked to another article to get the answer. "Around five. So we've got," he checked the time, "about four hours once we get there to find the grave and get the job done."

"Is there any way to tell who the next victim will be?"

Dean wished he had an absolute answer, but he shook his head. "Nine people have gone down so far, which is pretty much the whole force, it's not exactly a big town. It seems to be working its way up the totem pole, so to speak. Sheriff hasn't been hit yet, he's the last big person directly connected with the case, aside from the judge and jury, but they're further removed," Dean pitched as an idea, which Sam seemed to accept with another nod. "I'd say we start with him."

"Yeah, sounds good," Sam replied before he went silent, brows creased as he thought something over. "So we're…splitting up? All three of us can't be babysitting the sheriff and digging up a grave at the same time, but we need to make sure he's protected. The killings happened around five, some a bit before, some slightly after."

Dean was about to open his mouth to say he was fine to go dig up the grave by himself, but one cursory glance from Sam told him that argument probably wouldn't go over well. "Someone's babysitting me, I'm assuming then," he muttered with an eye roll, keeping his gaze on the road. Okay, so he was playing wounded, fine, but he could dig up a freaking grave by himself.

"Cas, why don't you help Dean out with the grave? Two people on it will make the work go quicker, I can handle the sheriff," Sam shut the laptop and shifted to look at Cas in the back seat.

The angel nodded regarding the plan. There was no sense to have Dean actually in the car when they needed to be in a few places at once.

"See? Going in researched, prepared, and with a plan, nothing to worry about," Dean waved off, and caught Sam's bitch-face at him from the corner of his eye. So that hadn't changed much either, Dean figured he must have been on the receiving end of quite a few over the years, and the thought made him smirk.

They pulled off to a diner as they entered town, since going a whole day without eating before a hunt wouldn't help anything, and were back out in under an hour. Going off of maps and the articles' descriptions, they managed to find all the places they'd need to hit. The burned house had been mostly cleaned up when they drove by, caution tape and a few charred support beams being the only things that really remained of the house. The police station was easy enough to find, as was the graveyard, being the only ones of each in town.

Dean pulled around to the police station and parked while Sam grabbed an FBI license out of the glove compartment. Hopefully given everything that had been going on, the missing suit wouldn't be a cause for concern and he could play it off as it having been an off-duty emergency while he was in the area. Dean agreed that it should work.

"Phone charged?" Dean checked as Sam readied himself to get out of the car and grab his duffel from the back.

"Yeah. You call when the body's burned or if anything happens," Sam reminded, his eyes moving between his brother and Cas. Both men nodded at that.

"The same goes for you, Sam, it is likely the spirit will come for one of us given our courses of action," Cas added to it.

Of course, Sam understood, but he nodded along anyways. "Be careful," was what he finally said in a quieter tone, mostly directed at Dean. It wasn't out of the fact that his brother couldn't handle himself, but sometimes things in hunts were out of their control, and today, they really, really needed everything to stay in control as much as possible.

"Cas is with me, we'll be fine. Spook's probably headed your way since you're stopping him from murdering another poor sap," Dean muttered. "No stupid antics, I know, now go, we're wasting time," he waved his hands for Sam to get out of the car. It was probably actually fifty-fifty the ghost came for either of them, but neither commended on the odds.

With a sigh, Sam exited the Impala with his fake badge in his pocket. A moment later, the trunk opened and closed and Dean watched his brother walk up to the mostly empty police station. There probably would have been more cars in the lot if more of the officers had been able to show up to work. Dean watched until Sam was inside before he pulled out of the spot and headed back towards the graveyard.

It was only about a five minute drive to their destination, and once there, Dean tossed Cas a shovel before he picked one up for himself, grabbed a duffel and a rock-salt shotgun and they continued on their way.

"So, you ever dug up a grave before?" Dean asked with an eyebrow raised as they walked through the cemetery. It was strange to be doing it during the day, but they didn't have time to wait for night to fall. Dean kept his head on a swivel, but again, being thankful that it was a small town, the equally small cemetery was desolate in the afternoon while most of the residents were either working or at home.

Cas shook his head and turned the shovel over in his hands as they walked, checking each headstone they passed by and looking specifically for newly moved dirt. "I have accompanied you and Sam on a few hunts, but have never partaken in the physical digging up of a body to be salted and burned or checked for its presence," Cas answered. "I would say I am…eager for the experience, but you and Sam do not seem to be fond of the activity, which is understandable, so that would not be the right phrase."

Dean chuckled lightly and shook his head at that. "Nothing to be eager about when it comes to digging up a body," he said in agreement. "But hey, angel strength, right?" Cas nodded in affirmation at the question. "Then this should go faster, and we'll be back to Sam and the sheriff before the sun sets. Just as soon as we find the place to dig," he added under his breath, still scouring the headstones.

They did eventually find the correct one with James Stevens 1991-2018 etched into it. It always sucked extra when the dead person was still fairly young, and this was no different. Hell, Sam had been younger and Dean just a year or so older the first time they bit it. Some people didn't come back.

Luckily, given the grave was newer, it was off to the side by a shallow wall ringed with bushes that gave the graveyard some privacy. For them, it meant that anyone on the street passing by wouldn't just happen to see a grave bonfire in progress while they were out to get groceries.

Dean stuck his shovel into the ground and put his duffel on the ground. He opened it up and got a few things out just in case James decided to rise from the grave and levitate their asses into a bush or something. They were trying their best to avoid that at all costs.

"Do we just…start digging?" Cas inquired, unsure about how to start the actual process.

Dean nodded. "Lots of digging, wide and straight down until we hit what we're looking for." With that, he began digging, putting the dirt into a pile next to the hole that would appear. Cas watched for a few shovelfuls, seeing how it was done before he continued in a similar fashion on his side. Gradually, the hole began to grow bigger and deeper, and though with an angel helping out it went faster, the sun still continued to get lower in the sky behind them.

When Sam entered the police station, the first thing he was struck by was the complete and utter silence. There was none of the usual chatter or rustling papers that accompanied the typical stations they went into. Whatever reporters had been around had either gone home or to a motel for the evening, Sam guessed, having been briefed about the latest incident while it was still morning.

"Hello?" he called to the seemingly empty building, unsure if the sheriff was actually in or not. Sam stayed by the entrance to the station before he finally heard the echo of boots on the floor. Another moment passed before someone turned the corner and Sam was met with who he assumed to be the sheriff.

He was a middle-aged man with short black hair that was beginning to gray. Dressed in his uniform, he looked ready for duty, but the look on his face said anything but that. He looked beyond tired, bone-weary if Sam had to put a name to it, and his own face softened slightly out of empathy.

"Can I help you?" he asked, voice again conveying the tiredness.

"Was hoping I could help you," Sam replied, and pulled out his badge to flash it before he put it away. "I'm agent Bloom. Heard about what's been going on and got sent down here on short notice."

"No time to suit up, hm?" the sheriff asked, and Sam nodded in reply. "Sheriff Matthews," he introduced with a nod of his own. "I'd introduce you to my deputy, but she's in the hospital, along with half my force that isn't being prepared to be put in the ground. I assume that's what you're here about?"

Sam guessed Matthews had explained the situation so many times over the past few days that he was getting tired of going over everything again and again, which made Sam extremely grateful that they already had most of the information and were working on solving the problem.

"That's it. And my condolences for the losses on your force," Sam added sincerely. The sheriff seemed to take it, but didn't add a comment. "I'm just here trying to figure things out, offer help if it's needed. Do you have any idea what's been going on?"

Matthews shook his head and sighed. He then waved Sam forward to one of the desks and pulled out a set of chairs so they could sit facing each other. "All I know is that my entire force is dead or wounded, and it's happened in record time."

"And the incidents, they're…" Sam trailed off.

"Odd, unheard of, fiery, strange, orderly, take your pick," the sheriff finished for him. "Tim," he gestured towards one of the many empty desks, "was lighting a cigarette outside before he finished his shift, no smoking in here you see. He went outside, never came back in. Coroner said his lighter essentially exploded and burned him alive. There's no…explanation for an incident like that." Matthews had begun to focus on a section of the floor in front of him, eyes glazed over as he retold the story for the hundredth time.

Sam cleared his throat and Matthews' eyes drifted back up to him. "You said orderly as one of your words. Why?"

Matthews shrugged and leaned back in the chair. "It's going up the chain of command, whatever these freak accidents are. Officers, then my deputy, only one that's left is me. When that clock hits five," he pointed to the device near the ceiling on the far wall, "I'm guessing it's my turn, I can follow a pattern, even if it makes no logical sense."

So, he knew what was coming. Sam just couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "The pattern…it started after James Stevens' death, you think there could be a connection?" Sam ventured, and waited for the sheriff's reply, which came in the form of a forced laugh.

"What, like he's a spirit coming after us for putting him in prison?" he asked, to which Sam shrugged. "At this point, agent, I don't know what to think. Afterlife's a probability, right? Seemingly more possible than nine of my team going down because of lighters and stoves. Impossible's about all we've got left." Matthews raised both of his hands and set them down again, looking utterly defeated.

Sam let a beat of silence pass before he looked back up at the sheriff. "Alright, this may sound crazy, but I've got an idea about how we just may stop this thing."

Matthews straightened and looked at Sam, confusion evident on his face, but some determination was there too as his mouth set and he leaned in ever so slightly. Sam then began to explain, in the simplest and least crazy terms he could think of how 'two other interested agents' were with him on the case, and the idea they had agreed upon. The idea, of course, involved salt, iron, and a grave desecration. Surprisingly, the sheriff listened intently to all of it. Sam couldn't pinpoint if that intensity was out of an effort to save his life, or make up for those that had been taken. Perhaps it was a bit of both. The only thing that ended up mattering, however, was that he agreed to the plan and stepped inside when Sam made a salt circle on the floor half an hour to five in the afternoon.

Even though it was December in Kansas, Dean found that digging up a grave was no less appealing than his last memory of it had been, and the heat of the labor left him in a plaid over-shirt and normal undershirt with his jacket tossed on top of his duffel. He and Cas had been taking turns digging, with the angel thankfully doing the brunt of the work, but Dean had been adamant about getting his hands dirty. Shoveling wasn't a danger to his health, after all, and he kept scooping dirt out with Cas on watch up above for a suspicious passerby or the spirit himself.

Thankfully, the shovel eventually connected with the lid of something hard, which had Cas looking down into the hole.

"Yahtzee!" Dean exclaimed happily, okay, not happily, they were still digging up some poor sap's grave to burn his bones. But hey, it was all in an effort to save other people, and he was glad the work was done. He scraped the rest of the dirt off, lifted off the cover, and took Cas' offered hand to get himself out of the hole.

"Do you find it kinda ironic that we're burning an arsonist?" Dean questioned as he got out the lighter fluid and sprayed a generous amount of the still very human looking corpse. The still freshly buried ones were always the worst, and always would be. The salt came next, and again, it wasn't applied with a light hand. The ghost still hadn't appeared, and as soon as the body was in flames, Dean was going to call Sam to make sure the spook hadn't shown up there either.

Cas was watching the scene unfold carefully, as if taking down the information for further use later on similar cases. "I suppose it is what you would define as ironic, in a tragic sense," Cas eventually agreed as Dean pulled out a set of matches.

In a deft motion, he lit it, and after making sure it had caught, dropped it down into the hole. It immediately flared up and the fire danced along the sides of the ragged hole and the coffin within it.

No matter how morbid it sounded, it was good to be back. This, standing in front of a burning corpse that belonged to a vengeful ghost, was what Dean understood. The whole therapy and relearning everything and doing nothing with his time that had occupied his last month, none of that compared to the job. There was no confusion here, just a job to do, a plan to stick to, and then it was done and lives were being saved in the process.

Dean quickly pulled out his phone, and after seeing it was a quarter until five, called Sam. The attacks usually happened around five, so hopefully they had gotten the spirit in time. Each ring, however, increased his worry and served as a reminder that this part of the job was something he'd never get used to. On the third ring, Sam picked up, and Dean couldn't hide the smile on the face when he did.

Once Matthews had gotten into the salt circle, it was just a waiting game, Sam knew it. He'd call Dean if the spirit showed up, or he'd wait for a call saying the same thing from Dean or that the salt and burn was done and no spirit would be showing up. He was standing in the center of the room, eyes constantly flicking to the clock, waiting for Dean to call with news of something.

Matthews was quiet in the circle, standing with a rock-salt loaded shotgun just like Sam was carrying. He'd taken the whole thing fairly well, given he was already a believer in the afterlife, and was working through some of what Sam had told him.

When the clock rolled around to almost five, Sam began to worry. The spirit was never on the dot, just around the time that he'd died in the physical world. The ringing in his pocket made Sam jump for a moment, and he re-situated the gun in his hands so he could pick it up.

"Dean? Everything alright?" he asked first and foremost, hoping the spirit hadn't shown up and crashed the salt and burn.

"Yeah, the arsonist became the fire, no sign of him," Dean informed, and Sam let out a sigh of relief. "What about on your end?"

Sam looked around, not that there would be a spirit now with the ghosts burned, and shook his head. "Nothing, it's all quiet and fine over here." But it was definitely strange. In their experience, vengeful spirits went after their objects of revenge or the people around their grave. It was odd for one to not have appeared for either.

"See? Milk run. Cas and I'll come pick you up and we'll go celebrate." Sam could hear the smile in his brother's voice, a sign of a job thankfully done smoothly.

"Sounds good," he replied, and was about to put the phone down before Matthews got his attention.

"Sam? You said flickering lights were a problem?" he asked, and gestured with the shotgun towards the hallway that led down to the holding cells. The lights were indeed flickering, and at a rate that couldn't be explained by an electrical failure.

"Hold on," Sam said quickly, and made his way over to Matthews. As he breathed out, the air in front of him formed white puffs at the sudden change in temperature. It plummeted all around them, a sure sign that something was coming.

"Sam? Hold on? What does hold on mean?" Dean's voice in his ear had lost the light tone and was replaced with one of worry.

"This makes no sense," Sam said under his breath, and faced the opposite direction of Matthews. Down the other hallway he now faced, the lightbulbs began to pop and shatter, coating the floor with pieces of thin glass.

"What was that?" Dean asked, apparently having heard the pops on the other end of the line.

Sam opened his mouth to reply before he felt Matthews tapping him on the shoulder. He slowly turned around and followed Matthew's gaze, where a woman had appeared and was staring them down. Matthews raised his gun at her and Sam dropped the phone into his pocket so he could do the same, Dean still asking hurried questions on the other end of the line.

The woman's eyes were full of fury, directed mostly at the sheriff in front of her. Her face was a grotesque mess of charred and pink flesh, and her clothes were covered in scorch marks. Her hair, which had probably been brown, was singed off in places and at different lengths. It took Sam a moment to place her, and when he did, his blood ran cold.

"You didn't believe it was an accident, you didn't believe him. Now, we're both dead," she said in a low, gravely tone, the fury in her eyes evident behind her words. "You'll burn for that."

Sam aimed his gun to shoot, but before he could get a round off, the woman flicked her hand and sent him careening chest-first into a file cabinet before he landed in a heap on the floor. From his position, he could see her circling Matthews, who had his weapon trained on her but was apparently unable to pull the trigger. For now, she was unable to cross the salt circle, but given her rage, Sam wasn't sure how long that would last.

Dean was still on the phone, shouting. Sam finally got a shot off, and she vanished as the rock salt hit, and Sam grabbed for his phone.

"-am? Sammy?"

"It wasn't James, it's the wife, we got the wrong bones!" he yelled, waiting for her to reappear. His heart was pounding in his chest, which wasn't helping his ribs, which he's probably cracked on impact.

"The wife? She's been cremated, you're sure?"

"I'm sure," Sam answered, no room for doubt in his voice. "Get to the house. Dean, you have to burn it down to a pile, that has to be what she's connected to," he had started, but he wasn't sure how much Dean had actually heard. When he pulled the phone away from his ear, the screen was black. He tried jostling it, which didn't work with the supernatural interference.

A ghost, they could handle until Dean and Cas actually got the job done. He pushed himself to his feet with a wince, phone back in his pocket and gun in his hand.

Matthews had stepped out of his circle to meet him halfway. "The hell did she go?"

"Blasted away, she'll be back. We need to go," Sam directed, as if it wasn't already evident. They started making their way to the doors, which they would have made it through had cabinets not fallen in the way.

A pissed off ghost and a blocked exit they could deal with, Sam reminded himself. They'd been through worse. Only then, on another glance around the station waiting for her to appear, did Sam notice the fire in the hallways. Lightbulbs continued to pop and shatter, and with them rained down a shower of sparks that ignited into a blaze.

Sam looked up just in time to see the light in the ceiling above them start to fizzle, and he grabbed Matthews and dragged him a few steps away from the door before they too could be engulfed. The flames immediately leapt up feet high and as Sam spun in a circle, he quickly realized that the hallways and the door were both blocked with walls of fire and obstructions.

They were trapped, and there was nothing rock-salt guns could do to help them.