They'd been there about ten minutes but the shock of novelty hadn't worn off.
"We should go, Dean, we shouldn't be here," Sam kept chanting, but even he was unable to stop himself from sneaking a peak at the curious belongings that scattered even the bed. It smelt like peppermint and tires in here.
Dean prodded the pages of the books with his fingernail. There were handwritten journals from 2009, complete with diagrams and what appeared to be incantations. Sam noted the red markings on the single window. He recalled having seen them in his introduction to Anthropology the previous year. It was a sign to ward off evil.
"Jesus Christ," Dean breathed. "I gotta tell you, Sammy, I'm a little spooked about this whole thing."
"You're spooked?" Sam shot back. "You already tasted the prelude with this ghost business. What about me?"
"You know, Castiel was talking real funny at Jess' birthday," Dean said, glancing at a glass box of straw dolls. "Sounded like he was making himself out to be a bounty hunter of some sort."
"This guy is seriously messed up," Sam picked up a rendering of Baphomet. "Dean, we should get out of here before he-"
"Dean," A voice came form behind them.
They spun around to find a figure standing in the doorway.
Castiel's piercing blue eyes bore into them, not with anger, not with embarrassment. He just looked tired. Almost too tired to react normally.
He was clutching in his hands two hamburgers and a can of soda. Castiel looked at the state of his door and turned to Dean.
"You broke my door."
The Winchesters gawked at him like a pair of deer caught in the headlights.
Castiel studied the door frame and said, "That wasn't very nice. Oh, excuse me, could you please return that rendering to its place? It's a 12th century original."
Sam quickly dropped the sheet and took a step back, throwing furtive looks at his shoes.
"You wanna explain what the hell is going on here, Castiel?" Dean said, nonplussed.
"I could ask you the same question," Castiel returned blankly. "Not very well mannered company, are you, Dean?"
"Drop the act and start talking!"
Castiel simply set down his food and began peeling away the wrapper from his burger, "I'm afraid I cannot trust you with the finer details-"
"Trust me?" Dean frowned. "Listen, pal. I don't know who you think you are waltzing into town with your crazy eyes, lookin' for ghosts or lookin' for trouble, but I do know one thing, you're the only other person besides me who can still see Jo Harvelle walking and I wanna know why."
"So, you admit it."
"Dean, let's just go," Sam breathed from behind his brother.
"Shut up, Sammy."
"I accede," Castiel sighed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "I'm not delighted at the prospect of having to dodge the two of you for the rest of the year, seeing as how you've seen all this now, and seeing as how I can't kill you to buy your silence."
Dean tightened his jaw - there was something very different about Castiel's demeanor. He seemed more assured, almost arrogant.
"Of course," the dark haired boy continued, addressing Dean but glancing at Sam, "I must insist you stop letting people in on this."
"I'll agree to that when you can explain what the hell this whole thing is, and just who are you anyway?"
Castiel was not comfortable with Sam being around. He wasn't particularly thrilled about sharing his story with Dean, but at least he would believe him. He couldn't say the same about Sam.
"Soda?" Castiel asked, holding out the paper bag. No takers. He sighed once more and began, "Whatever you know about me is true."
"And what about what we don't know?" Dean shot back.
"Coming to that," Cas sipped his soda while the pair of them watched him uncomfortably. "As you've guessed by now, Dean, I can see the dead. Well, not the dead. The echoes they leave behind. It is my belief that spirit must be transposed to one of two places after the body has perished."
"Yeah and what of it?"
"Sadly, this isn't the case for a lot of the deceased," Castiel looked away at the wall. "People, ah people have such a hard time letting go. That complicates matters. Parts of them get left behind, and the longer they stay here, the more malicious they get."
"Dean, are you listening to this guy?" Sam whispered.
Dean held a hand up to him, "Go on, Cas."
"I can help them, Dean. I can help the Wanderers."
"How?"
Cas stood up so fast that a bunch of napkins tumbled off his lap, he didn't even notice, "All my life I've been seeing them, lost, alone and suffering-" (Dean wasn't quite sure if he meant ghosts or himself) "and all I wanted to do was to help. I spent the past seven years educating myself on the subject. It wasn't easy, but I figured out a way to liberate them."
Dean felt a knot in his throat as he muttered the words, "Salt and burn the bones."
Castiel's eyes widened, "Yes! Yes exactly! The spirit can be liberated from its earthly bounds. This is how it must be!"
"Even if we were to believe you," Sam chimed in, "what explains you squatting here like a fugitive?"
Castiel turned his cool blue eyes upon him. Sam swore he saw a shadow flickering across them as Castiel began to speak, "Naturally, someone with my - my gifts - well I could not possibly live on with my family. They seemed - frightened. And they cast me away. I had no other choice."
A still silence descended upon them, save for the distant hum of the shoppers in the Walmart.
"Well, I'm sorry about that," Dean said after a long moment. "But I gotta tell you it's a huge relief to know you're not some Beelzebub fangirl."
"I don't understand," Cas tilted his head slightly.
"Dean, wait," Sam said. "All this crap all over the place, it still looks pretty bad. I wouldn't get chummy just yet."
Castiel turned to Sam again, "I'm sorry you have such little faith but I can assure you I have spent years and years immersing myself in study of all things supernatural for the sole purpose of doing what I can for the Wanderers and while I can see how odd it may appear to you, Sam, the truth is what you see in this room is simply the result of all my effort. If consorting with the Devil is what worried you, I have a lifetime of church service and sunday school under my belt to dispel your suspicions."
Sam blinked, open mouthed.
"Why did you come here Cas?" Dean asked.
"I have been moving," he replied. "I go where I believe I can be useful, but I don't stay very long. People begin - to ask all sorts of questions."
"Yeah, I can't see why," Sam muttered.
"So you've been chasing shadows and it led you into Lawrence?" Dean continued.
"As a matter of fact, I had been here a few weeks prior to meeting you."
"What do you mean?"
"I'd heard tell of a haunting down in Salisbury Street. Poor chap was being possessed by his own grandfather. Took me a whole night's exorcism to ease that family's pain."
"Wait, you're telling me that Emily Rose stuff is real?" Dean asked.
"Don't be ridiculous, that was a movie. This is real life. And it wasn't an easy exorcism mind you. I'd never done one before and I hope I never have to again. But that was two weeks ago."
"Two weeks?" Sam asked. "Not to sound rude or anything, but why are you still here? I thought you moved on after a job."
"I was going to," Castiel nodded and paced along his bed, "but then I caught wind of something else."
"What?" Dean wanted to know.
Castiel looked up at the two large boys who had broken into his makeshift home, fury and confusion on their brows, and said, "Trust me, you're not going to like it."