5

Red Letter

"I can't believe you!" Sam barked, stepping out of the Impala. "Why the hell did you do that?"

"Hey, it's the best deal I've ever gotten from a cop ever," Dean said. "The deal was way too good to pass up. I tell him what happened and he lets us both off? I mean, come on, would you've turned that down?"

"He wasn't a cop, Dean," he said pointedly. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Oh, whatever, Samantha. My point is, we're off the hook and they didn't even take our fingerprints," he smirked.

"They detained us, we weren't under arrest," Sam said, lips pursed.

"Why the hell are you so grumpy?" Dean asked.

"I don't know," Sam said. "Something doesn't feel right. I don't mean about them letting us go, I mean this hunt. Something's up."

"Uh, yeah, a ghost killed a guy," Dean snorted. Sam shook his head.

"See, that's just it. Something doesn't feel right about that. I think there's more goin' on," Sam said.

"How do you know that?"

"It's just a feeling." Dean nodded and sighed.

"Alright, we'll look into your 'feeling'," he grumped. "But I'm getting some sleep first."

"You didn't sleep last night?"

"Hell no," Dean shook his head. "I can't sleep around cops, are you kidding me?" He walked inside the motel room yawning. Sam shook his head.

"Gets more and more like Dad every day."

"Ghosts?" Lisbon repeated, incredulous. "You're kidding, right?"

"No," Patrick shook his head. "That's exactly what he said. He said the ghost of Paul Bratter's brother killed him."

"That's insane!" She threw her arms in the air. "And what the hell are we supposed to do now? We now have no suspects and a dead body to deal with! What the hell am I supposed to tell Minelli?"

"Nothing," Cho said, walking up to them. "Another dead body down town. Coroner said he died last night while those guys were locked up."

"Thank God," Lisbon sighed. Patrick had a finger pressed to his lips, thinking.

"Ghosts," he whispered. "What would make him think ghosts? An illusion, trick of the light, maybe? No, no he seemed far too experienced with this sort of thing to fall for that. But how could one be so sane and believe in something so illogical? Then again, there is a lot of religion in the world… Hm…"

"Jane?" Lisbon asked. Patrick jumped, giving her his attention. "Are you coming?"

"Yes," he nodded, smiling and ignoring the swaying of the room as he walked with them.

I'm fine, he told himself. I'm alright. Everything's alright… But Patrick Jane is a very good liar.

"CAS, PERSONAL SPACE!" Dean bellowed, jumping back and stumbling out of the bathroom.

"My apologies," the angel mumbled.

"How many times do we have to have this conversation?" Dean barked.

"It's not my intention to appear directly in front of you," he said stoically.

"Cas, did you need something?" Sam asked while Dean continued to grumble and brush his teeth.

Castiel looked around the dirty motel room awkwardly, out of place and unsure what to do. "No," he admitted, looking at the brother's with a sort of lost expression. "I…I don't have anything to do. At all. And I…I don't know what else to do. So, so I came here." Sam and Dean exchanged glances, both stifling laughter.

"You can crash here, Cas," Dean said, stepping out of the bathroom, of his own accord, this time. The angel frowned, cocking his head to the side.

"I don't understand," he said bluntly. Dean sighed and rolled his eyes.

"You can stay here, Cas," he said. The angel nodded and sat down at the rickety table, hands folded in his lap, totally alienated in such a human abode.

Sam plucked the paper off of the table, giving the local drabble a onceover. But as soon as his eyes roved over the front page they grew.

"Dean!" He turned, shoving the paper in his brother's direction.

Dean looked at the paper, then up at his brother in shock.

The headline blared: MYSTERIOUS DEATH IN SACREMENTO! HUSBAND SAYS "HER MOTHER'S GHOST DID IT!

Patrick lied down in his too quiet apartment, trying not to think about the pressing silence around him.

The crime scene hadn't been what he'd expected. The woman's body was totally in tact, no wounds of any kind. She just dropped dead. Just as Paul Bratter had. The same sort of struggle was to be seen, but this time there was no one standing around waiting to take the fall for it.

And what puzzled him the most was the husband's accusation of the culprit. He said it was his wife's mother who did it. The only problem was, Mrs. Routh's mother had been dead for two years.

"More of this ghost business," he had said, shaking his head.

"It's gotta be a hoax," Lisbon said, as exasperated as he was.

"Very cunning for a killer to do, though. Bring back dead relatives to scare their victims. Very clever indeed." Van Pelt strode up, joining their little group.

"The only strange instances that Mr. Routh can think of is the lights and electronics kept acting strange. They'd flicker, turn on and off. Nothing major. Probably power surges," she stated.

"Maybe…" Patrick said quietly, stifling a yawn.

"It made the evening addition," Cho spat, handing Lisbon the newspaper. She sighed, shutting her eyes for a moment.

"I can't wait until this case is over."

They'd gotten back to the station where they were bombarded with questions from Rigsby, who'd been ordered to stay put.

Patrick had nearly fallen asleep on his couch. In fact he was on the verge of dozing when Lisbon yelled at him to go home.

Once again, he stopped himself from begging on his knees for her to let him stay.

Don't make me go, he had pleaded behind his smile. Don't make me go to that horrible place. Don't let me dream of her again.

But no such luck. And now, he lied here, shutting his eyes in a feeble attempt to sleep before she came. Before she came to torment him with her kind words and gentle caresses.

That's when he heard the most chilling sound he'd ever heard in his life. It was so soft, so close.

"Daddy?"

- O.O-