"God damn it, when did Biggerson's get so popular?" Dean asked, leaning away in disgust as a particularly frail looking man wobbled at him with a tray full of ice cream sodas.

"It's Sunday, Dean. Most people like to have family lunches on Sunday," Sam said, mildly amused by his brother's maneuvering. Twice someone had bumped into him, causing him t smear his cheek with mayonnaise and ketchup. Dean quickly wiped his face and shelled out a few notes.

"Let's get out of here."

They squeezed through the doors and inhaled the sweet August air, glad to be away from the gradually tightening space of the food joint. Dean was still slurping noisily from his shake and Sam was popping fries into his mouth one at a time. With no ketchup, Dean thought, shaking his head.

"So let's say i was slowly starting to believe you, about this whole Jo situation," Sam said. "I still don't understand how Cas is involved."

Dean took a moment to recount the events at the factory on Friday. Sam gawked at him.

"Jesus, Dean! I know Ricky Hollis is a jerk, but did you have to leave him there?"

Dean shrugged, "The worse they are, the harder they are to kill. Besides, I saw him shuffling past Biggerson's half an hour ago with a girl on his arm, cooing at his little stitches. I tell you everything about that guy makes me sick."

"So let's say Jo really is a ghost," Sam said (Dean was becoming tired of his cautionary tone, but he endured it) "That would mean she was pretty pissed off with Ricky for coming at you. So she slipped up. She revealed herself. That's how Cas can see her. Doesn't mean he's got superpowers or something."

"Considered it. Except the guys' obsessed with the dark stuff. At least that's what Jo says."

"Jo's staked him out?" Sam gawked again, "You're telling me a ghost, with limited spatial range, was able to dig up more dirt on this guy than you could."

"What can I say, the dead have it easier," he replied gravely.

Sam furrowed his brow, "Dean, I'm really trying hard to believe it all, but this is getting to be-"

"Ridiculous? Tell me about it."

When they had boarded the 577 that took them to school, they sat in the back in silence, watching Lawrence swim by the glass. It always looked like such a pleasant town, Dean thought. Who knew what else was going wrong where?

As the bus pulled up at a stop, an old man got up from behind them. He had a raspy sort of breathing that was highly distracting - it made both boys glance up at him and their eyes hovered just a little too long on him, because in addition to the odd sound he was making, they noticed he was missing an eye.

There was just a smooth patch of skin over the socket where his left eye should've been. The old man sensed them staring and jerked his head at them. Dean quickly looked away but Sam wasn't so lucky, receiving the full wrath of the remaining eye. He smiled sheepishly and sunk into his seat a little lower.

The one-eyed man made his way down the aisle, so silently it was as if he was gliding. They doors hissed open for a little girl and her mother who were waiting in front. Sam and Dean watched him get off the bus, but as it passed down the sidewalk, he was nowhere to be seen. Both of them craned their necks slightly to stare out the window, but when the bus had picked up speed, they leaned back in their seats and said nothing. No use bringing up some old fart anyway.

When they reached the Walmart Supercentre, it was in full swing.

"Perfect," Dean purred and bustled in through the front doors.

"Where are you going?" Sam said, rushing in after him, clutching his laptop case under one arm. He looked ridiculous tiptoeing around people half his height. With his physique he could've parted the waves of shoppers, but instead, he chose to flit around like a butterfly. Unlike him, Dean thundered his way down Aisle 4 and paused at a blue door in the back of the store. It bore the words Service Personnel Only.

"Dean, wait!"

Dean shook his head and mumbled, "Anything in Comic Sans should be disregarded."

"Dean, it's off limits!"

"Come on Scooby Doo."

Nobody noticed the boys slipping behind the door, especially not the overworked employees.

"This is what Jo said to do." Dean said.

"Oh really?"

Dean ignored Sam and walked down until they had reached another door that opened into a stairwell, "Come on, Sammy."

Three flights of stairs later, they were accosted by a wooden door where there should have been a landing.

"This is it, Sammy."

"Dean, maybe we shouldn't do this. I mean, if the guy's really squatting here, obviously he's going through a hard time. He doesn't need us intruding on-"

But Dean was already fiddling with the doorknob and when it didn't give he growled viciously and slammed his foot into it.

It certainly did the trick.

The door flew open, scattering a few splinters of wood. A nail from the hinges fell to the stone floor with a sharp sound.

"Alright, you little-" Dean invaded the room and then halted. It was empty. By empty of course we mean Castiel wasn't occupying. What was occupying it however was in absolute accordance with Jo's description.

Sam, who had stood back and watched his brother in horror, readying himself to reprimand him, found he had forgotten the words, because of what he saw spread out inside the tiny little room.

There were maps with yarn stretched across them, tacked in places. There were towers of books that served as a dining table. There was a board pinned up with newspaper clippings of the oddest nature - ghost sightings, murders, police records. In a corner of the room was a large black trunk that had been left open, the contents of which were both unfamiliar and unpleasing to the Winchester boys.

"Geez," Dean breathed, looking about him. He felt a cold shiver through his spine. Who was this Castiel guy?