Chapter 15: Falling Down
Dean returns from the store, several bags of groceries hanging from his left arm as he holds his phone up with his other arm. His eyebrows furrow and he asks a few questions before hanging up. His eyes trail from Castiel to Sam, and then back to Castiel. He seems satisfied enough, as small grin growing over his face. He reaches into one of the bags and grabs a small black notebook which he tosses to Castiel.
Castiel catches the notebook with one hand, nodding appreciatively towards Dean. His hands trace the cover, and he opens it, feeling the resistance in the unmoved binding of the pages. He had asked Dean to pick this up for him, which had seemed like a good idea at the time. Now he wasn't so sure. The stark white pages are crisp and clean, undisturbed. Cas isn't sure even what to write in it, but he starts with what he knows. He grabs a pen from the table, one of Sam's, and he chews on the cap for a moment before taking it off to write.
"I am Castiel. My friends call me Cas. I was once an angel, but I am no longer. I was lost. I don't think I am yet found, but I am getting there."
He eyes his handiwork, the soft flowing of ink, and smiles. Turning the intangible into something tangible made it easier to sort out his emotions. Again, Castiel's mind drifts back to the previous night, and Sam's mention of heaven. His lack of memory was beginning to weigh heavily on his mind. He saw flashes, glimpses of his life after escaping purgatory, but it was a jumbled mess. It was like seeing broken images of a stained glass painting.
Castiel shakes his head, trying to avoid these thoughts as he watches Dean walk back into the room. Dean has a smile on his face, which means Castiel is immediately suspicious. He narrows his eyes slightly at Dean who slides into the chair next to him. Castiel can't help but notice the comfortable ease that Dean seems to be in as he places his hand on his knee and squeezes gently.
"Garth just called, he got a tip about a haunting about 3 hours from here. It isn't far, seems like a simple salt and burn," he says, his eyes wide and eager.
Castiel nods at Dean, waiting for Sam and Dean to bicker over who would take care of it. He is instead taken by surprise when Dean suggests that Cas comes with them. Castiel's eyes open wide and a wide grin takes over his face.
"I would love to, Dean," he replies as he ignores Sam stifling a smile behind his computer screen. Dean stands up and claps his hands together, excitement changing him from a grown man into a child. He pats Castiel on the back.
"You're coming too, right Sam?" he asks absently while he throws a couple things into their hunting bag.
Sam takes a deep breath and leans back in his chair. "Look, I was actually hoping I could sit this one out. Homework and stuff…"
Dean laughs and waves his hand dismissively, "Ya, whatever, little brother. I can tell when you're crushing on a girl…you just wanna stay and get your flirt on with the hot librarian" he says with a laugh and an eyebrow raise.
Sam opens his mouth to protest but he can only laugh and shrug his shoulders slightly.
"I'm the older one Sammy, I know everything," Dean warns; a goofy grin on his face. Castiel can't help but laugh as well, relieved to see the ease with which their lives had returned to normal. He also realizes that they had most likely been planning for a while to have Cas start joining them on their hunts again, which was a relief. Castiel was tired of being useless, and he was eager to get back to helping people.
It is nearly dark as the impala rolls into an abandoned street near the old farmhouse. The country highway is silent, only the occasional truck lights up the surrounding areas. Dean had briefed Castiel on their drive, and it seemed simple enough.
Castiel's old knife was tucked into his jacket, and he had a gun in his pocket. They were waiting until nightfall, which Cas had questioned, until Dean explained that they didn't want the cops called on them. Cas had nodded and agreed, although still not entirely pleased with doing everything in the dark.
They waited in the impala as the fading sun set, stealing glances at one another. Electricity seemed to buzz between them and Dean's nervous energy only heightened the mood. Castiel feels as if he should be more nervous, but Dean's own excitement is rubbing off on him.
Dean nods towards Castiel once the street is dark, and he gets out of the car, his jacket laden with all the necessary tools. He hands Cas a flashlight, grinning slightly. Castiel can feel his face slightly flushing; apparently Dean hadn't forgotten that he wasn't fond of the darkness. Castiel follows Dean, checking the driveway behind them periodically.
The old house is a few miles down from a run-down gas station, and it sits on several acres of abandoned property. The house is white, or it used to be, before time claimed her. The front steps are mostly caved in, and the remains of a wicker chair sit huddled on the porch. It doesn't take much imagination to imagine how the house might have looked back in its prime. Now it is used, worn, and harbors a feeling of ill-will.
Dean hops over the broken steps and extends a hand out to Castiel, pulling him up onto the decrepit porch. The water-worn wood groans beneath their steps as Dean struggles to pick the barely functioning lock on the door. Castiel's eyes travel to an old "for sale" sign sitting in the window, the dust obscuring the "e". Dean swears under his breath, still struggling with the lock.
His eyes meet Castiel's and he shrugs, "might as well kick it in then," he says. The door opens rather easily with the slight application of force. The inside is damp, and smells of mold and rust. Castiel is hit again with the reminder that this used to be home, as his eyes settle on a doll seated on the kitchen counter. Dean looks around, his own flashlight exploring behind corners and crevices of the house.
Dean looks at Cas, whispering quietly, "We need to find the cellar". Castiel nods, remembering the horrific story of the mother who locked her child up in the basement cellar, only to go mad and kill herself, leaving the child to starve. Castiel shivers at the thought, his mind again going back to the doll in the kitchen, and the other various signs that this was once a home.
The silence around them is like humid air, enveloping them as they both step lightly to avoid the creaking of the dead floors. The building was meant to be bulldozed, but contractors kept mysteriously disappearing and the project had been put on hold. The stairs creaked with every gust of wind that hit the home's outer walls, and the cracked windows reflected strips of light from the passing cars outside.
Castiel steps softly, his eyes scanning the hallway near the back of the house. A movement catches the corner of his eye and reaches out a hand to stop Dean. They are silent, communicating with their hands. The little girl is here, and she knows they are here too. They pick up their pace, finding the stairs to the cellar in what looks more like a kitchen pantry.
Dean goes in first, an iron crowbar in one hand and his flashlight in the other. Castiel keeps his flashlight trained forward as he shuts the door behind him. The cellar is even worse than the rest of the house. The walls look wet, as if the piping has exploded and is seeping down the walls, and the ground has puddles of what looks like water or blood. The stench alone is almost unbearable, and both men choke back their gagging reflex.
"Well isn't this place lovely," Dean grumbles as he steps over several planks of fallen wood. The ceiling is low, and Dean has to stoop several times to avoid hitting his head on old piping. Castiel catches a glimpse of movement again, mere seconds before a knife is hurtled at his head. He moves quickly to evade it, his body still expertly trained in speed and dexterity.
"Looks like we aren't alone now, Dean," he says, as a shriek fills the hollow silence that had surrounded them before.
"Ya, well, let's hurry before Pippi Longstockings comes back with more knives," Dean replies, shining his flashlight around looking for where the remains of the little girl.
Castiel nods in agreement, his skin prickling with the cool air swirling around them. He follows Dean further into the basement, riddled with old farm machinery and stacks of firewood strewn about. Another flash of movement alerts Dean that they aren't alone, and puts his flashlight in his mouth, while both hands wrap around his crowbar. Castiel digs in his bag for salt, pouring it quickly in a circle around the area they are standing.
They'd been over the plan a thousand times. The young girls bones were somewhere in the house, and they presumed the best place to start was the basement. The deaths that had occurred in the house thus far were mostly "accidents" involving cutlery, or due to structural incidents in which part of a ceiling caved in. Castiel couldn't help but think the latter part was true by no means of the ghost herself, his eyes flitting upwards at the molded and malformed ceiling.
Dean continues searching as Castiel covers his back, his eyes flicking back and forth in the small space. They had neared the back of the cellar, but still had nothing to tell them they were looking in the right spot. Dean swears under his breath some more as he trips over wood planks on the ground, knocking them over. He turns around just as the ghost materializes in front of Castiel, who doesn't hesitate to shoot her with rock salt, causing her to disappear immediately. She was small, she looked around age 9, with blonde hair in two messy braids. Castiel looks briefly at Dean, "She seems to flicker in and out, I don't know if she's strong enough to do any real damage".
Dean nods, and tells Cas that he had been thinking the same thing, but that they should still hurry. As they come to the back of the basement, Dean groans loudly.
"A damn crawlspace! Really!?" he says with exasperation. Castiel can't help but smile a little. He offers to go in for Dean instead, but Dean tells him no. He wrinkles his nose up in disgust as he unlocks the small hatch on the crawlspace door, and swings it wide open. The smell of death and decay hits them both and Dean outwardly gags slightly.
Castiel quickly helps boost him into the crawlspace, handing Dean his flashlight once he is able to crawl further inside. Castiel pours more salt outside the crawlspace entrance and he checks his gun again. The timing seemed to be about every 5 minutes, the girl would appear. She was easy enough to get rid of as long as she didn't have a weapon; that was the part that Cas had to be mindful of.
He listens as the house remains silent, only the slow dripping of water can be heard. The silence is broken by Dean swearing and some shuffling inside the crawlspace area.
"You ok?" Castiel asks, furrowing his brow and stepping closer to where Dean is.
"Ya I'm fine, Cas. Just some fucking rats. I hate rats," Dean answers angrily.
Before Castiel can laugh, the ghost materializes directly in front of him again, her arm outstretched with a knife. He shoots at her once, but his vision goes immediately hazy and he falls to the ground, grabbing his head as a piercing sound fills his ears. He can feel a pain in his shoulder, but he can only see the images in his mind, moving quickly. His eyes are shut but he sees snapshots that blur past him.
The bright light is around them, and Naomi's hand is in his chest. A flash of light. An image of Dean; injured and bleeding. The picture moves too quickly for Castiel to grasp and he realizes that he is holding his breath. He takes a breath, which seems to snap him back to the present where Dean is standing above him and yelling his name, his hand on Castiel's shoulder.
Castiel blinks several times before he notices the blood running down his arm and the pain that comes with it. His hearing comes back next, his eyes recognizing the words before he hears them.
"What the hell happened, Cas? Are you OK?"
Cas nods and stands up, one hand holding the spot on his right arm where a knife had apparently connected with his skin. Dean's eyes are frantic with worry, and his fingers are shaking slightly as he opens the backpack that had fallen from Castiel's shoulder onto the floor. His eyes barely leave Castiel, but he manages to deftly pull out their pack of salt and lighter fluid. Castiel's breath is ragged but his senses have all returned to him. He puts a hand out, motioning for Dean to give him the lighter. Dean obliges, quickly crawling halfway back into the crawl space to lay the salt and lighter fluid. Castiel can only deduce that Dean had been successful in finding the ghosts bones.
Dean crawls back out, the front of his shirt stained and dirty, small cuts sprinkling his hands and face. Castiel quickly flicks the push button on the lighter and throws it into the damp area.
"We waste a lot of lighters, Dean. Why don't we use matches?" he asks, grinning.
This seems to set things right again, the worry eases slightly from Dean's face and his eyebrows rise in surprised amusement.
"You have a point. I dunno, but let's get out of here and get you bandaged," he says as he throws an arm around Castiel's shoulders. They wait for the fire to go out, and a few more minutes to be sure the job is done, before they race up the stairs and back to the impala parked outside.
Dean has Cas sit on the edge of the trunk, while he cleans up his wound. It isn't much, not very deep, but Dean is thorough and kind about it. He slips one hand around Castiel's waist when he is done working, and pulls him in for a slow and gentle kiss. To Castiel, it feels like a celebratory kiss, but he can't help but feel like he let Dean down. And whatever images he saw in his mind, he can't seem to forget.
He pulls back from Dean slowly, his eyes wide and searching. In the darkness, the passing cars only briefly illuminate their faces. In the blinks of light, Castiel can see the worry creeping back into Dean's face, the creased brow and the slightl downward turn of his lips. Dean's eyes ask the question, as he searches Castiel's face, hoping he won't have to ask him, "What the hell happened back there?"