CHAPTER 5

"Let's start by searching the place," Dean said. "I'll take upstairs, see if I can find an attic. You two handle the ground floor."

"Why are you pairing the two of us up?" Sam asked, using his flashlight to gesture at Castiel. "The ghost is most likely to be in the attic, right? You're the one who should take backup."

"Because you're injured and he's-" Dean didn't finish that thought, but he did give Sam a look which told him not to argue. And, surprisingly, Sam didn't.

They split up, just as Dean had instructed. Sam and Castiel moved soundlessly through the house, neither of them feeling the need to say anything. Castiel, in particular, was acutely aware of the fact that they only had forty-five minutes until an innocent teenager was brutally murdered, and didn't wish to do anything to distract from their search.

They had searched about half of the first floor when they found the door to the basement. Sam shined his flashlight down the rickety steps, toward the concrete floor below, then said, "I'm going to go take a look around down there. You finish this floor, then go up and check on Dean, okay?"

"I thought that Dean wanted us to stay together? So that I can be your backup," Castiel said, adding finger quotations around the word backup to emphasize his point. A clerk at the grocery store where he had bought the maps a few days ago had done that, and Castiel thought that it was a useful way to add emphasis, as well as to show that he was quoting Dean exactly.

"Yeah, but he's up there by himself, and I figured that one of us should go make sure everything's okay," Sam said. "Especially if the ghost really is haunting the attic."

Castiel couldn't deny the logic of that, so he nodded. "Alright," he said. "I will ensure Dean's safety and then return to you."

"Thanks," Sam said, looking oddly amused at Castiel for some reason, and then began descending the steps.

It didn't take long for Castiel to finish searching the lower floor. A cursory inspection revealed nothing out of the ordinary, except for signs of where the teenagers had disturbed the dust when they had visited earlier. He turned and headed up the stairs, calling Dean's name in a low voice to let him know that he was coming.

Dean did not respond. Castiel reached the top of the stairs and glanced around. At the end of the hall, there was a ladder pulled down, allowing access to the attic. "Dean," Castiel called again as he began to climb. And, again, Dean did not respond.

Castiel tightened his hands on the iron crowbar as he crept into the attic, his eyes flickering around, ready to strike at the first sign of anything ghostly. He was already worried about what he was going to find, his stomach clenching as he tried to imagine the reasons why Dean wouldn't answer Castiel's calls.

If the ghost had done something to harm Dean-

Castiel decided that he wasn't going to think about that. Not yet, at least.

There was a rope hanging from one of the rafters. It was frayed, as if someone had cut it in half and then never bothered to untie the remainder of the rope. It wasn't as though there was a noose still hanging from the ceiling – the rope was only a foot or so long, and hanging high above their heads, where Castiel wouldn't have noticed it if he hadn't happened to point his flashlight upward at the exact right spot. Even so, he couldn't help but wonder why nobody had taken it down.

He stepped closer, intent on getting a closer look.

Something touched his shoulder.

Castiel spun around, immediately swinging the crowbar in a wide arc to try to take out the ghost before it could hurt him.

"Woah, woah!" Dean shouted, jumping back. "Be careful with that thing!"

Castiel hastily lowered his crowbar. "I'm sorry, I thought you were-"

It wasn't necessary to finish that thought. Dean was already waving one hand dismissively, which was actually somewhat frightening, considering that he used the hand which held his gun, and Castiel still hadn't quite figured out what guns were used for, but he knew that he didn't wish to find out by having it used on him somehow.

"Why didn't you respond when I called your name?" Castiel asked.

"Didn't hear you," Dean said simply. "I was back here," he said, and gestured for Castiel to follow him. Castiel did, and was led to a door that looked as though it had been hidden behind a bookshelf.

Inside the room, Castiel was greeted with organized chaos. Though every room that he had been in before had been sparsely furnished, this room certainly was not. It had been packed with so many tables that it was almost impossible for Dean and Castiel to fit into it together without knocking something over, and ever table held some item that appeared to be on display. The items ranged from beautiful jewelry to ornate statues to taxidermy animals, the last of which Castiel found mildly disturbing.

"He collected things," Castiel said, looking over at Dean.

Dean nodded. "I wasn't the one who found the secret door," he said, shining his flashlight over what appeared to be a human skull decorated with jewels, and making a face at it. "It was standing open when I got here. And check this out." He moved the flashlight to the left, pointing to the sole empty table in the entire room. Castiel stepped forward for a closer look, squinting to try to make out what Dean was indicating, and then he saw it. Not only was the table empty, but there was a small square of clean space in the center of the dust that covered the surface, as if something had been sitting there until recently.

Castiel understood. "You think that the one of the teenagers stole something when they were visiting earlier this week?"

"You got it," Dean said. He stepped toward the doorway, and Castiel followed, mostly because this room was far too cramped to just stand around having a conversation. "And I'm guessing that the ghost doesn't know who did it, so he's going after everyone."

Castiel nodded. "So, if we found the item and returned it, do you think that the attacks would stop?" he asked, then immediately answered his own question. "No, never mind, it would never work."

"Why not?" Dean asked. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

Castiel considered, and said, "Well, I suppose that should be out backup plan, if we can't stop the ghost tonight. But we only have-" He paused, suddenly remembering that he didn't have any way of telling the time, so he didn't know exactly how much time was left. Instead, he finished, somewhat lamely, by saying, "We don't have much time. There is no way that we will be able to track down the item and bring it back here before the ghost kills someone new."

Dean nodded in agreement. "So we need to find a way to stop the ghost before then," he said.

"Have you figured out what we're supposed to burn?" Castiel asked.

Dean snorted. "Look at all of that crap," he said, gesturing back toward the hidden room. "You think that I've figured out which one item was the most important to him? It could be any of that shit."

"Well," Castiel said slowly, trying to think of a logical way to figure this out. "What types of items usually hold a soul to Earth?"

Dean shrugged. "Lot's of stuff," he said. "Could be something that had emotional value when the person was alive, or it could be something that had to do with their death, or just something that represents who they are. With this guy, it looks like he was attached to a hell of a lot of things, that's why it's going to be so hard to figure it out.

"Something related to his death," Castiel repeated, as something occurred to him. "What about-"

He lifted his flashlight to point it toward the rafters, then paused.

The rope that he had seen earlier was gone. The rafters were bare, as if there had never been anything there to begin with.

"What about what?" Dean asked.

"There was a rope there," Castiel said. He pointed the flashlight all around the rafters, to make sure that he wasn't simply missing it, but they were all equally bare. There was absolutely no sign of the rope anywhere, even though Castiel was sure that he had seen it just a few minutes ago. "It's gone now."

"Huh, that's weird," Dean said, not sounding terribly surprised or concerned – though, given that he apparently did things such as this all the time, Castiel supposed that he would be used to odd events by now.

There was a low buzzing noise, and Dean pulled out his phone. "Give me a sec," he said, then held it up to his ear. "Hey, Sam. Yeah, Jimmy's up here with me, we think we might've found something. What about you?" A short pause, then, "What, you think you'll just magically find some info that you missed earlier? Don't think you have enough time for that, dude. Okay, okay, fine, sounds like as good a plan as any. I'll come toss you the keys, then Jimmy and I will keep looking around here, see what we can find. Call us soon as you know something."

Dean snapped his phone shut and shoved it back into his pocket, and Castiel tilted his head, looking at his quizzically. "Is there something wrong?"

Dean shook his head. "Sammy's heading to a diner we passed about a minute up the road. It was open all night, and he thinks there'll be wifi. He's gonna see what he can find out about our dead guy, to try to figure out what to burn."

That made some sense. "You don't think that it will work?" he asked, and Dean just made a face, not answering. Castiel nodded – he understood Dean's skepticism, even without Dean having to say a word. So instead of asking again, Castiel just said, "And in the meantime, it makes sense for us to look through the treasures, to see if anything stands out."

Dean grinned. "Now you're thinking like a hunter," he said, and headed down the ladder, presumably to deliver the keys to his brother.

Castiel immediately headed back to the hidden room, and began squeezing through the narrow aisles separating the tables, squinting at every strange or confusing object that he passed. By the time that Dean joined him only a minute later, Castiel had seen all manner of unusual objects, but none of it seemed to be particularly special or important. It all looked as though it had been treated with the same care; absolutely nothing stood out.

The silence was excruciating. Castiel felt as though he should hardly be concerned with that, considering that they were in the midst of something important, but he couldn't help but feel as though this silence was somehow different than the comfortable silence that he had shared with Sam. After only a minute, he couldn't help but speak up, though even as he opened his mouth, he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to say.

What he ended up saying was, "I'm fine with going to the Roadhouse, whatever that is."

Dean glanced up. "What?"

"I'm not sure who Ellen is, either," Castiel continued, staring hard at what appeared to be either a medieval medical instrument, or some sort of torture device. "But if you wish for me to stay with her, I have no objections. It isn't as though I have anywhere else that I plan on going."

Castiel had been determined to not look over at Dean, but he immediately found himself glancing over at the other man, and the light from his flashlight – though not pointed directly at Dean – was still enough for Castiel to see Dean grimace. "You heard that, huh?"

"Yes," Castiel said, deciding that a simple answer would be better in this case.

"Sorry," Dean said.

Castiel blinked, feeling thoroughly confused now. "There is no need to apologize," he said. "I didn't mean to impose my presence on you. I'm sorry that you have been forced to deal with me for so long."

"I didn't mean it like that," Dean said, still sounding uncomfortable, though he offered no explanation for how he had actually meant it.

Castel turned back to looking through the items, taking an extra moment to study an antique pocket watch, and then Dean said, "It's just, it's me and Sammy. That's how it's always been. I'm not all that eager to add someone else to that."

"I understand," Castiel said truthfully. Because he could understand. He had already found himself caring for Dean and Sam, but that was likely caused by the fact that they were really the only people that he knew right now, not counting Father Garcia or anyone else from the men's shelter, who he would likely never see again. Castiel supposed that he had to begin feeling close to Sam and Dean, or else he would have nobody. That did not mean that they were obligated to feel the same.

They fell back into silence for a bit, which was only broken by Dean snapping, "Why the fuck hasn't Sam called yet?"

"How much longer do we have until the next attack?" Castiel asked.

Dean pulled out his phone. "Eight minutes," he said, and dialed a number, then pressed the phone against his ear. "Come on, Sam, please tell me that you found something."

Whatever Sam said in response, it made Dean growl out a swear and hang up immediately. "Looks like this Maison guy really was cremated, and Sam doesn't have a clue what could be tying him here," Dean said, and abruptly spun to face Castiel, lifting his flashlight to shine it straight at Castiel's face. "Okay, new plan."

Castiel squinted and lifted his hands to block out the light, but he immediately asked, "What?" He was beginning to realize that it wasn't going to do any good to continue simply looking through the man's belongings. If Dean had a better idea, then was eager to hear it.

Dean lowered the flashlight, and now Castiel could see his face well enough to make out the proud look on his face. "We don't know which of these things is tying the spirit here, right?" Dean asked, grabbing a bejeweled skull off one of the tables and casually catching it. Castiel thought that the answer to that was fairly obvious, but he nodded regardless. "If we don't know what to burn," Dean said slowly, tossing the skull to himself a second time, "then I say we burn it all."

"This doesn't look like it will be safe," Castiel said doubtfully, watching as Dean spread gasoline over the contents of the hidden room. Though honestly, Castiel supposed that it was a bit late to be complaining, considering that he had helped Dean to cover the entire area with salt only a minute earlier.

"Relax, it's perfectly safe," Dean said, then amended, "Well, safe enough that we're not going to get ourselves killed or anything."

"Yes," Castiel said. "That makes me feel much better."

Dean immediately glanced over at Castiel, and grinned. "That's the spirit," he said, then bent down and did something to his shoes. Castiel wasn't entirely sure what, until he realized that Dean had removed one of his shoelaces, and was working on pulling out the other one. "Give me yours, too," he said, and though Castiel wasn't sure what exactly Dean was planning, he instantly obeyed, removing his shoelaces and handing them over.

"Not the best fuse I've ever made," Dean said as he began tying the laces together, "but it'll be long enough that we can light it from the bottom of the ladder and then run like hell."

Castiel had to admit that there was some logic in that, so he didn't say a word as Dean began to lay his fuse in place, and then rubbed it down with gasoline. "For insurance," he explained. "We wanna make sure that this baby will actually burn."

Again, Castiel did suppose that that made some sense – as much sense as anything could make when they were talking about setting a house on fire. Though, considering that the only other option was to allow the ghost to kill an innocent teenager, it wasn't as though they had any other choice. "Alright," Castiel said after a moment. "But I'll be the one to light the match."

Dean began to protest, but Castiel cut him off by saying, "Your hands are covered in gasoline. You shouldn't be any closer to the fire than you have to be." After that, Dean couldn't exactly argue, so he handed over the lighter and climbed down the ladder. Castiel set his flashlight on the floor – he didn't think that he'd be able to climb down the ladder while holding both the flashlight and the lighter and the crowbar that he had tucked into his belt – and then followed Dean down.

He paused when he was just a few rungs from the bottom, where he was close enough that he would still be able to reach the end of the fuse. He flicked the lighter once, twice, three times before it finally lit, though Castiel didn't hold it to the fuse right away. Instead, he turned and looked over his shoulder at Dean, who was standing a few feet away, watching him intently.

"You do realize that this is an incredibly reckless and stupid idea," Castiel said.

"Is that going to stop you from going through with it?" Dean asked.

"Of course not," Castiel said, and was only somewhat surprised to learn that he meant it completely. It had never even crossed his mind to back out.

"Then light the damn thing," Dean said, though he didn't sound angry. In fact, Castiel couldn't see his face, but he was reasonably certain that Dean was smiling.

Castiel was about to obey, but something caught his attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he swore that he saw something moving.

"Dean," Castiel said urgently. "The ceiling."

He wasn't able to say anything more, but he didn't have to. Dean understood instantly, and swung his flashlight upward, pointing it toward the area beside Castiel's head. At first, they saw nothing. But then the movement came again, and this time, Dean saw it as well, and moved the beam of the flashlight just far enough to the left to illuminate the source.

There was a rope hanging from the ceiling. It wasn't tied to anything – it was simply hanging there, as though it was a part of the ceiling, though Castiel was positive that he hadn't seen it earlier.

Then he realized that he had. Not here, but in the attic. It was the same rope that had been hanging from the banister in the attic, the same rope that Castiel had assumed had been left up after the man's suicide.

He didn't have time to think of anything more than that, because that was when the rope began moving straight towards him.

Castiel prepared to throw himself from the ladder, already preparing to take off running down the hall, but he didn't make it nearly that far. He didn't even make it off the ladder. The rope caught him before he could even move, winding itself around his throat as if it were sentient. Castiel's hands flew to his neck, grasping at the rope and struggling to pull it off, but his hands simply touched against his skin as though the rope were not even there. A second later, the rope tightened, as if to punish him for even thinking of getting away.

Then it began to retreat back into the ceiling, pulling Castiel with it, lifting him off the ground. Only his toes were still touching the ladder now, and in a second, he would loose even that contact with something solid, and he already couldn't breathe, he couldn't imagine how much worse it would be if he couldn't even hold himself up-

A gunshot sounded, and Castiel collapsed to the floor, barely even noticing the way that he slammed the ground hard. He was too busy trying to breathe.

"You okay?" Dean demanded, his hands suddenly appearing on Castiel's shoulders and gripping him tight.

Castiel coughed, and gasped, "Fine." The lighter was somehow still in his hand. The flame had gone out, but he hadn't dropped it. He didn't even have the slightest idea how he had managed that, but he wasn't going to question it. Instead, he just reached up and groped about for Dean's hand, trying to press the lighter into it so that Dean could just kill the spirit already.

But first, he looked up, just in time to see a gaunt and ghostly man appear behind Dean.

"Behind you," Castiel gasped, but his throat still felt useless, and his breathing was coming too hard for Dean to understand the warning.

An instant later, Dean was thrown to the side. He roughly collided with the wall and stuck there, suspended in midair, despite the way he struggled.

The ghost of Maison approached him slowly. He lifted his pale hands, and an instant later, a length of rope appeared within his grip, which he pressed hard against Dean's throat.

Castiel instantly reached for the iron crowbar that he had been given, but it had somehow been knocked loose from his belt when the ghost had been strangling him. He switched to scrambling about his pockets, looking for his container of salt, but he had used it all up when he'd been salting the room-

The room!

Castiel pushed himself to his feet in an instant. His head felt light, as though he didn't have nearly enough air, but that could be ignored for now. He was already flickering the lighter again as he hurried up the ladder, practically dragging himself up it one-handed until his head was in the attic. By some miracle, it only took him one flick to get the flame going.

They had placed the fuse as a safety precaution, to give them time to escape before the house was engulfed in flames. It was still lying beside the entrance to the attic, ready to be used.

Castiel ignored it completely. Instead, he simply hurled the entire lighter toward the doorway to the hidden room, hoping desperately that Dean had coated the room with enough gasoline that it would light instantly.

He had. Castiel supposed that he should have known that, considering how enthusiastic Dean had seemed about killing things.

The room instantly burst into flames, and from below, there was an otherworldly screech. Castiel jumped down the ladder – not even taking the time to climb – just in time to see the ghost burn away to nothing, and to watch Dean collapse to the floor.

When Castiel had been strangled, Dean had immediately asked if he was alright. Castiel supposed that he should repay the courtesy, but there wasn't time. So he settled for grabbing Dean under the shoulders and practically hauling him to his feet. "Run," he said.

Dean obeyed. The two of them stumbled a few times – particularly Dean – but Castiel kept a tight hold on him, and together, they managed to burst out the front door before the fire had spread too far.

Instantly they both stumbled and fell to their knees on the grass, gasping for breath and coughing hard. Neither of them had breathed too much smoke – they had escaped fast enough to avoid that – but he had breathed in a few whiffs of it, and it was not pleasant.

"Man," Dean said after a few seconds of nothing but coughing and harsh breathing, "I frickin' hate fires."

Castiel frowned and looked over at him. Dean was already pushing himself to his feet, though he still looked slightly unsteady. "I was under the impression that you enjoyed killing ghosts," he said, also climbing to his feet and reaching out one hand to steady Dean.

"I do," Dean said. "Killing things is awesome. But fires? Fires suck."

Castiel couldn't think of anything to say in response to that, so he just turned and looked up at the house. He could see the light from the inferno shining through the attic windows. "I hope it doesn't spread."

"It won't," Dean said. "There are no other houses around for at least another mile. We'll call the fire department, they'll take care of it before it can burn anything else." He pulled out his phone, and Castiel thought that he was calling the fire department, as he'd said. Instead, though, he said, "The ghost's been dealt with. Get your ass back here and pick us up."

Dean returned his phone to his pocket without another word, and Castiel asked, "Sam is going to come get us?"

"Yup," Dean confirmed with a nod, then winced and rubbed his throat. "Why do they always have to strangle you?" he grumbled. "I mean, that guy obviously had a thing for hanging people, but seriously, there are a ridiculous amount of ghosts who do the same thing. Seriously, why?"

"I don't know," Castiel said.

"Well, it sucks," Dean said, and Castiel had to admit that he agreed.

For a moment, neither of them said anything, just stood there and stared up at the burning mansion.

"What did you shoot?" Castiel asked after a moment.

"Huh?"

"When I was being strangled," he elaborated. "I heard a gunshot, and then the rope disappeared."

"Oh, that," Dean said, and shrugged. "I shot a salt round at the place where the rope met the ceiling. Figured that it might do some good."

"Quick thinking," Castiel said, somewhat impressed.

"You, too," Dean said. "Good job torching the guy's stuff. I would've been dead if you hadn't done it so quick." He paused, then said, "And, you know, thanks for dragging me out of there."

"You're welcome," Castiel said simply.

The silence stretched between them, long enough that Castile began to shift in place and glance down the road, wondering when Sam would arrive so that they could get out of here. It wasn't that Castiel was particularly impatient, but he didn't want to risk being caught at the scene of an arson.

"You know," Dean said after the silence had lasted for a couple of minutes. Castiel turned back toward him; he was staring at the attic, and didn't appear to have looked away the entire time that they had been standing here. Now, he scowled. "I really, fucking hate fires."

Sam arrived barely a minute later, parking the car beside where Dean and Castiel were standing and stumbling out of it, his eyes wide as he stared at the burning building. "What the hell did you two do?" he demanded.

"Jimmy killed a ghost, that's what we did," Dean said, snatching the keys from Sam's hand and heading to the driver's seat of the Impala. "No thanks to your research, might I add."

"Sorry," Sam said, as he circled around to the passenger seat. "I was hoping that there would at least be something useful," he added, and sounded thoroughly frustrated that that hadn't been the case.

"Yeah, well, whatever," Dean said. "Let's just get out of here."

Sam nodded and pulled open his door, but before he climbed inside, he took the time to look over at Castiel and grin. "Good job," he said.

Castiel shrugged. "It was Dean's idea," he said honestly. "I was just the one to enact his plan." But even so, he couldn't help but flush with pride as he climbed into the backseat of the Impala.