CHAPTER 10

"Hey Jimmy," Sam said, dropping down onto the couch beside him a couple days later. Castiel looked up, and Sam held out a thin piece of plastic toward him. "This is for you."

Castiel immediately recognized it as a driver's license. His driver's license, he realized. Or, at least, Sam must have created it for him, because the picture on the front was one that Sam had taken of him a few days earlier. Castiel had wondered why Sam had insisted that he look directly at the camera, and why he had spent so much time on his computer, editing the background into one solid color. Now, it made more sense.

"I already have identification, though," he said, and reached for his wallet to show that it was true. He had both the James Novak ID, and several other fake badges that the Winchesters had already given him.

Sam was already shaking his head, though. "I know," he said, and continued to hold the license out toward Castiel, who finally took it. "This one is for emergencies only."

"Why?" Castiel asked, glancing down at it. The name on the license was James Mercury, which he immediately noticed was odd. Most of their fake names didn't involve any part of their real ones.

"Lot's of hospitals only let family in to see each other, especially if you end up in the ICU, which has happened a couple times." Sam grimaced – whatever an ICU was, it clearly did not hold good memories for Sam – then pulled out his own wallet and producing an ID from one of the back slots. He held it out, showing that the name on this one was Samuel Mercury. "That means that we need some IDs that actually say that we're brothers. I figured that if you're going to stick around for a bit, then you'll need one, too. I mean, I hope that we won't have to use them, but better safe than sorry, right?" He paused, then added, "I also made some changes to the insurance stuff, so you'll be covered if you ever end up injured. Or, you'll be covered until they figured out that all of our paperwork is nothing but forgeries, but hopefully that wouldn't be until after you got out."

Castiel stared down at the ID, seeing it in a whole new light now. He wasn't even sure what he should say about it, or how to express the feelings that were swirling through his chest. Instead of trying, he somehow found himself asking, "Why is it my real name? Or, real first name, at least."

He wasn't sure why that was the question that came out of his mouth first, especially when there was so much more that he could say to Sam, and this answer didn't particularly matter. Sam just shrugged. "It's easy to mess up, especially when somebody's hurt and you're already stressed out about it," he said. "This just makes it easier. I mean, if Dean gets hurt and someone overhears me screaming his name, the staff are going to start getting suspicious if his ID calls him something else, don't you think?"

Castiel nodded slowly. Judged by the look on Sam's face, Castiel was reasonably certain that this was a lesson that the brothers had learned the hard way.

Sam shrugged, and his face quickly cleared. "Anyway, it's just easier this way," he added. His tone was casual. He had no idea how much this meant.

Castiel swallowed hard. "Thank you," he said. "Really, Sam, I can't thank you enough. This is-" He didn't know how to finish that sentence, so he just shook his head.

Sam blinked, looking a little surprised. "It's just an ID," he said.

No, it was far more than that. It was a definite sign that Sam and Dean were thinking of him, and that they intended for him to stay with them for long enough that having this ID would prove worthwhile. And to Castiel, that meant more than he knew how to express.

"And anyway," Sam continued, "like I said, let's hope none of us ever need it. But keep it with you just in case, okay?"

"I will," Castiel promised, and slipped it into one of the back slots of the wallet, where it wasn't immediately noticeable, but where he would be able to remove it easily if necessary.

The Winchesters wanted him to visit them in the hospital, and they wanted to be able to visit him as well. Castiel had never known that a piece of plastic could make him feel so grateful.

Another five days passed without Sam finding any new cases for them to take. Sam said that it was good to have a break, and privately, Castiel agreed. He didn't say it out loud, though, because after the first couple days, Dean began to grow antsy from staying in the same motel room for so long, not to mention the fact that he didn't get to kill anything in all that time, which was apparently unusual for him.

Mostly, Castiel did his best to keep to himself, not wanting to bother Dean and Sam, in case he should accidentally annoy them into deciding that he should leave. He knew that it was unlikely, and he still had the ID that Sam had made to remind him that the Winchesters wanted him around. Still, though, he wanted to be sure.

Dean was keeping his distance, though. Castiel would sit beside him on the couch, and Dean would quickly scoot over, making room for Sam to sit between the two of them. Once, Sam quickly say down on Dean's other side a moment after Castiel had taken his seat, preventing Dean from being able to scoot away. Dean had shot Sam a dirty look, then gotten up and moved to the table. Castiel tried not to let it bother him.

Now, he was stretched out on the couch by himself, as Sam and Dean were both seated at the table. Sam had his ubiquitous laptop in front of him, while Dean was reading through the leather journal that had also become a constant fixture in their motel room over the past few days. It seemed like every time Dean had even a second of free time, he had taken to reading through it, even though he must have finished the entire thing at least three times in the past week alone.

"Still reading about the demon stuff?" Sam asked, reaching across the table to poke the leather journal.

"Shut up," Dean grumbled, pulling it back out of Sam's reach.

"Dean, you're not going to find anything new about the demon in there," Sam insisted, and scratched his neck. His stiches had been removed several days ago, leaving only scar tissue that they hoped would fade with time. "Seriously, if Dad knew some way to find Azazel, he would've done it already, not written it down and forgotten about it."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, and didn't look up from the page that he was reading. "Gotta keep trying, don't I?"

"You're bordering on obsessive territory here, man," Sam said. "Don't you think you should take a break and, I don't know, go watch those crappy TV shows that you like so much?"

"Shut up," Dean snapped a second time. "First of all, Dr. Sexy is an art form, you're just too brain dead to appreciate it." Sam snorted at that, which Dean ignored. "And second, I'll take a break once I find something useful. Until then, I'm gonna keep working." He turned the page in the journal, and muttered, "A whole fucking month and Ash still has shit."

"Is that what the journal is?" Castiel asked, causing both brothers to turn to him. "It belonged to your father?"

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice instantly going stiff and uncomfortable. Castiel now recognized it as the special voice that Dean had reserved for any time a conversation came too close to becoming emotional. "He wrote down everything that he knew in here."

"Well, almost everything," Sam said. That made Dean look up at him for the first time, and Sam added, "He never mentioned that he knew that the demon was named Azazel."

Dean just frowned, and immediately returned his attention to the journal.

"And Azazel is the demon who killed your mom and Jessica?" Castiel asked slowly, deciding that one more question would be okay, though he was prepared to drop the subject at the first sign that they wanted him to.

Sam, however, answered. "Yeah. Yeah, he was," he said, in a low voice. "And trust me, I want him dead as bad as Dean does, but he's not going to learn anything more from reading that book."

"I can try," Dean said. "Besides, what exactly are you doing on your laptop, anyway? I bet anything you're doing more research."

Sam grabbed the side of the his laptop screen, like he was preparing to close it. Then he just said, "Well, yeah," and let his hands drop.

Huh. That was interesting.

"But the thing is, I'm looking up new information every time that I look," Sam added. "I'm not just reading the same words over and over again, like you are."

"And have you found anything?" Dean challenged.

Sam glanced at his screen. Dean couldn't see it, but Castiel could, and he watched as Sam quickly exited out of his current window, then pulled out another story. "Get this," he said. "There've been two suspicious deaths about a day's drive from here. Apparently, two men both showed up at the police station yesterday, about an hour apart. Both of them individually confessed that they'd murdered a girl together about ten years ago, and acted like they were going to turn themselves in. But when the police tried to make an arrest, both of them got away. Then this morning, their bodies showed up in the river. Stabbed to death."

"Huh," Dean said, and tapped one finger against his chin, considering that. "So, vengeful spirit type deal? She comes back to get revenge on her murderers, they confess in the hopes that it'll be enough to stop them, and it doesn't work out for them?"

"Don't know," Sam said. "But it sounds like our thing, doesn't it?"

"Don't know," Dean replied, echoing Sam's words. "Honestly, it sounds like those two deserved what was coming to them if they'd gotten away with murder."

"I can't help but agree," Castiel said slowly, then added, "But there is always the risk that the deaths will not stop now that the murderers are dead. As long as there is something supernatural happening, I believe that we should investigate."

Dean shrugged. "Guy's got a point," he said, then got to his feet, closing the journal and tucking it under his arm. "Okay, you've convinced me. Let's go hunt this thing."

They arrived in a little town called Ceredo at around noon the next day. Once there, they discovered that Castiel had been right about the deaths not stopping, because right as they were crossing the town line, Sam received a news alert telling him that a young woman had just been found stabbed to death in her apartment.

They were once again in their FBI costumes, though this time they all held badges proclaiming them to be Agents Kilmister, Campbell, and Dee. Castiel wasn't quite sure why they didn't simply reuse the badges that they had used during the witch hunt, but Dean apparently took great joy in choosing various aliases for them to use, and had literally dozens of badges in the back of the Impala that he had created simply because they amused him.

Castiel was dressed in his trench coat, because he and Dean had never actually bothered to buy him a suit to wear. That was alright. Castiel was reasonably certain that the trench coat was official enough that he could pass as an agent, and he vastly preferred it over the uncomfortable-looking suits that Sam and Dean had to wear. He had been wearing the trench coat every day since Dean had bought it for him – despite the fact that it made Dean roll his eyes and shake his head – and it was still by far the most comfortable article of clothing that he owned.

"The body is this way," the police officer said, beckoning them over to the apartment's bedroom. "Just found her a couple of hours ago. Damn shame."

The woman – Gretchen Strauss, that was what Sam had said that her name was – was lying across her bed, her eyes wide with shock and pain, clutching at the stab wound in the center of her chest. Though the one in her chest appeared to be the cause of death, her entire body was covered in shallow cuts, as though she had been tortured before her death. Castiel grimaced, then looked away, choosing to turn his attention to the room around him, to see if there were any signs of some supernatural occurrence. Aside from the corpse, though, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

"This may sound like an odd question," Sam began, "but did the victim happen to confess to any crimes recently? Maybe a cold case, or something similar?"

The officer glanced at him in surprise. "Yeah, actually," she said. "Apparently she's been stealing from her company for years now – must've taken over a hundred thousand in the past year alone, stuck it all in some oversees account. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," Sam said.

"And, who was the last person to see the victim before her death?" Dean asked.

The officer shrugged. "Her neighbor, as far as we can tell. She saw Gretchen here leave her house last night, so odds are Gretchen met up with someone else, but we don't know who it was."

"Which neighbor?" Dean asked.

"The one to the left," the officer answered, and Dean nodded, then turned and headed out the door, presumably to go speak with the neighbor.

"So, did you know Gretchen well?" Sam asked.

The officer snorted. "Guess you could say that," she said. "She's been in and out of the station for years now. I've seen her charged with everything from mail fraud to credit card scams, but we've never been able to get anything to stick." She paused, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. "That's what made it so weird when she decided to confess a few days back. We'd never even suspected the money laundering. Of course, I guess she changed her mind about doing the right thing, because she later swore up and down that she had never confessed, even though we caught it all on video."

"Did she seem... strange, when she came in to confess?" Sam asked.

"Besides the fact that she was confessing?" the officer asked.

Castiel cut in, "I believe that what Agent Campbell means to ask it, were there any flickering lights? Perhaps a cold draft, or did her eyes change color at all?"

"Uh, no," the officer stammered. "She seemed a lot more confident that usual, if that's the kind of thing you're going for." Then she frowned. "Wait, I thought that Agent Campbell was your name?"

Castiel frowned, and pulled his FBI badge out of his pocket to check.

"Thank you, we'll take it from here," Sam said quickly. As soon as the officer had left the room – still giving them odd looks all the way – Sam turned to look at Castiel, giving him what Dean had called his bitch face. "You're really going to make people think that we're crazy."

"She was right," Castiel said, returning the badge to his pocket. "Agent Campbell is my name. I really have to remember that."

Sam just shook his head. "Let's just take a look around."

Castiel nodded, and the two of them set to work.

"EMF is going crazy," Sam said a few minutes later. He had been walking all around the room, waving his detector in every possible corner as it beeped wildly. Now he returned it to his jacket and continued to look around the room.

"A vengeful spirit, then," Castiel said with a nod. Well, that had been simple to figure out, at least.

"Maybe," Sam said, and Castiel frowned. He had thought that EMF was a sure sign of a spirit's presence, but apparently that wasn't the case, because Sam added, "We should wait to see what Dean learned from the neighbor."

That did sound like the best plan. And in the meantime... "What were you researching yesterday morning?" Castiel asked. "It was clearly something that you didn't want Dean to see."

"It wasn't," Sam said quickly. He hesitated, then added, "How much do you know about Dean's stay in the hospital about a month ago?"

"Only that it happened, and that he came very near to dying," Castiel said. "And that there is no explanation for why he's alive."

"That's what I'm looking for," Sam said. "An explanation."

That made sense. Castiel had to admit, he wanted to know what had happened as well. "Why not tell Dean, then?"

"I'm not hiding it from him or anything," Sam said, and Castiel could tell that he was being honest. "It's just, he doesn't want to think about it so much. I know it freaks him out to not know what happened, and until I actually find something halfway useful, there's no sense in forcing him to think about it." Then Sam shook his head and added, "Besides, you've seen the way he's been. I doubt that there's any way to make him focus on anything except tracking down Azazel."

Yes, that was true. "It is very kind of you to not want to worry him," Castiel said.

Sam just shrugged. "It's what brothers do."

Dean returned then, and announced, "Okay, I spoke to the neighbor. So, apparently Gretchen here usually gets home from work about four o'clock, and then stays home for the rest of the evening. Dead girl's not much of a partier, I guess. But last night, our friendly neighborhood gossip saw her arrive home about seven in the evening, and then she left again fifteen minutes later. No one knows where she went then, except that at some point, she must've come home and gotten killed. So, any ideas?"

"We've got enough EMF to make a ghost a possibility," Sam said. "Other than that, it could be anything."

"So, what is our next step?" Castiel asked.

"Research," Sam said.

Dean groaned. "Boring," he announced. "We're going to let Sam handle that crap. I'm going to go get the autopsy results, maybe talk to the families of the first couple vics."

"Good idea," Sam said. "Take Jimmy with you."

"But-" Dean started to protest.

Sam silenced him with a look. "You two make a good team," he insisted. "Besides, I'll get through the research a lot faster if I don't have anyone around bothering me."

"I would not be bothersome!" Castiel insisted, but Sam shot him a look that seemed to be telling him not to argue, and so Castiel fell silent.

The officer was leaning against the doorway to enter the room, holding her phone out in front of her and typing something on the screen, but she looked up as they approached, then quickly lowered her phone and stepped out of the way. The three of them walked right past her, with neither of the Winchesters even looking in her direction, but she rushed forward regardless, sounding strangely nervous as she asked, "Do either of you have business cards? So that I know who to call if there's anything new about the case, I mean."

Instantly, Dean turned toward her with a smile. "Here you go," he said, producing one from his jacket pocket and holding it out to her, who looked almost shy as she took it. "Feel free to give me a call anytime, Officer-"

"Brunt," the officer said with a smile. "Felicity Brunt. And thank you," she added, tucking the card into her pocket.

"Don't mention it, Felicity," Dean said. "I'll look forward to your call, then."

Her smile widened, and she nodded at him before turning and heading off toward the bedroom, presumably to further investigate the corpse.

"Dude," Sam hissed as they left the house. "Can you at least refrain from flirting with someone at a crime scene?"

"You're just jealous, Sammy," Dean said with a wink.

Castiel frowned. "I'm guessing that you are going to attempt to have sexual intercourse with her?" he asked, his voice sounding awkward, even to his own ears.

Instantly, the happy grin slipped off Dean's face. "That's my business," he said gruffly, then shook his head and motioned for Castiel to follow him to the car. "Come on, buddy, let's go show you your first morgue. Try to contain your excitement, okay?"

Both of the victims were in various stages of decay, and smelled absolutely awful. Castiel wrinkled his nose as he stared down at them, stretched out on the metal slabs. However, neither Dean nor the coroner seemed bothered in the slightest, and so Castiel tried not to let it show.

"So you don't have a time of death?" Dean asked.

The coroner shook her head. "Not an accurate one, at least. They've been in the water too long. They were last seen five days ago, when they made those confessions. I suspect that they died somewhere around that time, maybe even the same day. But like I said, I don't know for sure."

"And is there anything unusual about the bodies?" Dean asked.

Castiel opened his mouth to provide examples. Dean immediately stepped on his foot. Castiel took that as a sign that he should not be speaking, and shut his mouth, though he did glare at Dean as he did so. Dean did not appear to notice.

"They were both stabbed straight through the chest," the coroner said, "and have about a dozen other smaller injures on top of it, like they were tortured before their deaths. Other than that, no. Just a typical murder case. Stab the vics and hide the body."

Dean nodded. "Thanks for your time," he said, and he and Castiel turned and left the morgue.

Castiel leaned closer to Dean and said in a low voice, "That was not particularly exciting."

Dean glanced over at him. "Huh?"

"Why would I need to contain my excitement if there was no excitement to be found?" Castiel asked. And Dean was about to respond, but suddenly, the answer came to him. "Sarcasm!" Castiel announced.

Dean glanced over at him, amused. "Yeah, buddy," he agreed, as he pulled Impala keys from his jacket pocket. "Sarcasm."

Castiel grinned, more than a little proud of himself, and Dean grinned back as they got into the car.

"My son was a good boy, agents," Mrs. Elton insisted for the fifth time since Dean and Castiel had arrived to question her. "I don't know why people are saying that he killed that one girl. He didn't, I know that he didn't."

"So you don't believe that he was the murderer, even though he confessed to the crime?" Castiel asked.

Mrs. Elton shook her head empathetically. "I know that he didn't! He was already with the angels by then, I'm sure of it."

"With the angels?" Castiel asked.

"She means that he was dead," Dean explained in a low voice, then turned back to the woman in front of them, who was now dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. "What makes you think that, ma'am?"

"He was missing for days before the confession," Mrs. Elton said. "I called him and called him, but for two whole days, he didn't answer me. He wouldn't have ignored his Mama for that long, I'm sure of it! He must have been gone by then, and someone else framed him! That has to be what happened!"

Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance, and then Dean stood. "Thank you for your time," he said, as Castiel hurried to follow suit.

"Why are we leaving so soon?" Castiel asked, as soon as they were outside of the house.

Dean made a face. "I doubt we're going to get anything more useful from her," he said. "I can tell you one thing, though. Something funky definitely went down in the two days before he made his confession. Now we just gotta figure out what."

Right then, Dean's cell phone began to ring. He pulled it from his pocket and glanced at the caller ID, then put the phone on speaker. "Hey, Sam. Tell me that you've got something."

"Sort of," Sam said. "The police have officially confirmed that all three of our victims were actually guilty of the crimes that they confessed to committing."

"Huh," Dean said. "Okay, so who do we know that could've done this?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted. "Pretty much every belief system has had some sort of god of justice that we should be looking at, but none of them seem to match up… But then, we don't have a whole lot to go on yet. We can't even say for sure that it's a vengeful spirit. Did you see those power lines right outside her window?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "You think they messed with our readings?"

"Who knows?" Sam asked.

"So, basically, we got squat," Dean said, then groaned. "Great. We're going to grab something for dinner and then come join you at the motel, okay?"

"Got it," Sam said. "I'll keep looking, I guess. I'm sure that'll do a ton of good."

Dean glanced over at Castiel, his lips twitching into a smile. "Sarcasm!"

"What?" Sam asked, sounding confused, and Castiel covered his mouth to hide his laughter.

"Nothing," Dean said, and was looking fairly pleased with himself as he said goodbye to Sam and hung up the phone.

Apparently Sam was wrong about the usefulness of the information that he would be able to find, because when Dean and Castiel arrived at the motel, Sam was practically bursting with excitement. "I found a connection," he announced as the two of then walked through the door.

"Yeah?" Dean asked, dropping their plastic takeout boxes onto the table and looking over at Sam expectantly. "What is it?"

"Sylvia Brunt," Sam announced, as though that were supposed to hold some meaning. And Sam must have known that they wouldn't understand, because he immediately added, "That's the name of the girl who was murdered by the first two victims."

"Wait," Dean said, holding up one hand. "Brunt, as in related to the officer we were talking to earlier?"

Sam nodded. "Her younger sister," he said.

"I'm sensing a conflict of interest here," Dean said.

"What is the connection?" Castiel asked.

"Gertrude Strauss? Our third victim?" Sam said. "She had apparently been babysitting Sylvia and her twin brother Emory on the night that Sylvia was kidnapped and murdered."

"So we got a motive," Dean said. "You think this is some sort of vengeful spirit thing?"

"It's looking more like it," Sam replied. "Sylvia dies a violent death, then decides to come back a decade later to avenge herself?"

"Well, we can go find out," Dean said. "Any idea where Sylvia was buried?"

They decided to wait until darkness fell before they went and dug up the body, to make it less likely that they would be spotted. Sam and Dean got changed into their normal clothes – they obviously weren't going to be digging up a grave in suits – and headed for the door. "You coming, Jimmy?" Sam asked.

Castiel hesitated. He was fairly certain that he should say yes, just in case digging up the corpse turned out to be more difficult than anticipated. But then, Dean and Sam had already salted and burned countless bodies, and as long as they stayed together, Castiel didn't think that there would be any danger.

So instead, he asked, "Actually, Sam, would it be okay if I stayed here and used your laptop?"

Sam looked a little surprised, but he nodded. "Sure, no problem," he said, gesturing over to where he had left it on the motel table.

"Just don't go looking through Sam's secret porn stash," Dean added with a grin.

Sam rolled his eyes and elbowed his brother in the side. "All of that it yours, Dean," he said. "And anyway, I've already deleted it all."

"You what?" Dean asked, and as the two of them left the motel, Castiel could hear Dean demand, "Do you know how long it took me to collect all of those videos? They're, like, the best of the best!"

"That tells me way more about you than I ever wanted to know," Sam said.

Dean paused in the doorway, then turned back around. "I'm going to leave you my cell phone," he said, pulling it out of his pocket and tossing it onto the nearest bed. "Call Sam's phone if you need anything."

"Thank you," Castiel said.

Dean just shrugged. "Don't mention it," he said. "We'll be back in about three hours or so. Four at the most."

Then the door swung closed, and Castiel was alone.

The first thing he did was open the Internet on Sam's computer, as he had seen Sam do before. After that, though, he stared at the screen for a long time, unsure of what, exactly, he should look for.

He wanted to try to figure out what, exactly, had healed Dean, but that didn't seem very likely. If Sam hadn't succeeded in learning anything, then Castiel doubted that he would do any better. He also wanted to know where Azazel was, and how Castiel knew about him, but that held the same problem.

In the end, the question he finally asked was, Are angels real?

The answer, it seemed, was yes. The first website that he clicked on explained that angels were very much real, and that they worked to watch over humans. The second website claimed that they were merely stories, but its skepticism was overshadowed by the countless videos and pictures and stories of angels saving people. All in all, the evidence was very convincing, and Castiel began to feel somewhat better about the fact that he had heard the angels, though it did remind him of the fact that the voices had not returned.

But then, if there was so much proof, then why did Dean say that they weren't true? And why had Sam previously said that they had never found any actual evidence?

Castiel didn't understand, and he got the feeling the continuing his Internet search was not going to make things any clearer. He shut down the computer and pushed it aside.

About two and a half hours had passed at this point. Dean had said that they would return after three hours, but even if they were on time, there was still half an hour left before their return. That left him with nothing to do but pace the room, and wonder.

Wonder about who he was.

Wonder about whether the angels' voices were real, or if he were going insane.

Wondering about why the angels' voices had vanished, and how he could get them back, and whether he would even want them back if that was an option.

All of these thoughts were worrying, and he found no answers. Which was why he was grateful when Dean's phone suddenly rang, if only because it distracted him from the endless repetitions of his mind.

He grabbed the phone off the bed and checked the caller ID. He had expected it to be Sam, but no, it was a number that he didn't recognize. He answered the call, regardless. "Hello?"

There was a pause, and then Felicity Brunt's hesitant voice said, "Agent Campbell? Is that you?"

"Yes," Castiel said, feeling proud that he had remembered to use the correct name this time.

"I thought that this was Agent Kilmister's number?" she said, sounding a little confused.

"It is," Castiel said quickly. "Agent Kilmister left his phone in the motel room. He and Agent Dee are away on… official business." There. He hoped that that sounded professional enough to be believable. Then something occurred to him, and he said, "I don't know when Agent Kilmister will return. If you wish to have intercourse with him, I don't think that this would be the best time."

There was a long pause, and then Felicity said, "No, that wasn't why I'm calling."

"Oh," Castiel said. "Then why?"

"There's been another murder," she said, her voice shaking slightly. Castiel found himself wondering whether or not she was really called to a life of police work. Although, he supposed that she had reason to be emotional, considering the connection to her younger sister's death. Perhaps she hadn't been the best officer to be charged with this case.

There wasn't time to ponder that now, though. "When?" he asked, then added, "And where?"

"An abandoned barn just outside of town," she said. "And we haven't gotten the chance to do a thorough investigation, but the body was found by a homeless man who says that it doesn't look like it's been there for more than a couple hours."

So, it seemed as though Sylvia's ghost had gotten to one last victim before Dean and Sam had gone to dispose of it. Or, that was the likely solution, but Castiel still thought that this called for investigation. "I should call Sam – I mean, Agent Dee – and tell him about this."

"It's okay," Felicity said. "His number is also listed on Agent Kilmister's card. I'll give him a call in a moment."

"Thank you," Castiel said.

"Of course," she said, and Castiel was fairly certain that he heard a smile in her voice. "Do you have a car? Do you want me to give you the address so that you can meet me at the crime scene?"

"No," Castiel said. "My partners have the only car. I will wait until they return, although their… official business may take a while, and will have to be dealt with before we can join you at the crime scene."

"Okay," she agreed easily. There was a second's pause, then she said, "Actually, I was just about to head out there myself. Tell me where you are, and I'll swing around to pick you up."

"That is very kind of you," Castiel said. "Are you certain that this won't be any trouble for you?"

"None at all," she promised. "We all just want this case to be solved as quickly as possible, don't we?"

Castiel smiled. "I am in room nineteen at the Super 8 motel."

"I'll be there in a jiffy," she promised, then hung up the phone.

True to her word, it only took Felicity five minutes to arrive at the motel room.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked, the moment that he opened the door. "Don't mean to rush you or anything, but I want to get down there as soon as we can."

"Yes, I am ready," he said, reaching down to take the spare room key from the table where they had left it. He tucked it into the pocket of his trench coat – which he was once again wearing – and took an extra moment to be sure that he had all of the necessary items, including salt, a lighter, and the three knives that he had tucked into various pockets, so that they would be available should he ever need to defend himself. Dean still said that he wasn't ready to carry a gun just yet, despite the lessons. Nodding to himself, he turned and smiled at Felicity. "We can go now."

She led the way to the car, and gestured for him to circle around to the passenger seat. As he did so, he asked, "Have you called Agent Dee and Agent Kilmister?"

"I did," she said. "They said that they wouldn't be done with their 'official business' for another few hours, so they said that the two of us should just go ahead without them."

"A few hours?" Castiel asked. That was odd. He was expecting them within the hour. "It is taken them longer than expected, then. Have they run into trouble?"

"I don't know," Felicity said with a shrug. "They didn't tell me anything about where they are."

Yes, that did sound like what Sam and Dean would do. Castiel nodded and opened the passenger side door. As he did, he asked, "Did they say anything more?"

"Nothing," Felicity said. "Now come on, let's go."

Castiel nodded, though he drew Dean's cell phone from his pocket as he did so. He would call them on the way to the crime scene, just to make sure that they were alright, and that they weren't in need of his assistance.

Or, that was what he planned on doing, but before he got the chance, something in the shadows moved.

He instantly froze, his head whipping around to stare at where the movement had come from. Everything was still, enough so that he wondered if he had really seen it at all. But he found himself trusting his instincts, in this case. At the very least, he wanted to investigate. If there was something lurking in the shadows, then he didn't want it to catch Dean and Sam by surprise, since they would likely return to the motel room to change clothes before joining the investigation.

"Excuse me," he said. "I'll just be a moment." He closed the car door and drew the knife from his pocket, switching the cell phone over to his left hand so that he could hold the knife in his right. Whatever was in the shadows, it appeared to be hiding just around the corner from room nineteen, and Castiel carefully crept towards it.

"What are you doing?" Felicity called, climbing out of the car and taking a few steps forward, as if she were about to follow him. "I told you, we need to get going! I told my boss that I'd be there in ten minutes, and it's at least a fifteen minute drive."

"This won't take more than a moment," he promised, and stepped around the corner.

Nothing. At first. He was about to turn away when something caught his eye. There was very clearly a figure crouching against the wall, half hidden by a cardboard box and the other random assortment of trash that surrounded the motel. It was hidden well enough, but couldn't disguise itself completely. Castiel tightened his grip on the knife and took a step forward.

That was the exact moment that the figure attacked.

Castiel jumped back, instinctively swinging the blade upward to fend off the attacker. He retreated a few steps more, still staring hard at the attacker, to ensure that it didn't escape.

The attacker rushed forward. Now, Castiel could see that it held a knife of its own.

As it stepped into the light, Castiel also realized that it was a copy of himself.

The man before him didn't merely bear a strong resemblance to Castiel – it was him, plain and simple. It was as if he were looking in a mirror, only the image was reversed, as if he were seeing himself as he really was, instead of looking at a mirror image. Even the clothing was identical.

The shock was enough that Castiel very nearly didn't block in time, but at the last moment, he managed to bring his arm up to hold the clone's arm at bay. The clone's arm struck his own with enough force to make him drop the cell phone he was still holding, but the knife blade did not touch him.

"What are you-" Castiel began to demand through gritted teeth, but then the clone attacked once more, and Castiel found himself too busy trying to avoid being stabbed to finish the sentence.

The clone swung. Castiel ducked, and took a step forward, brining the knife forward and attempting to stab the clone's abdomen. He jumped back, and then they circled each other, both of them narrowing their eyes at the other.

"Oh my god," Felicity said, her voice breathless and dazed. Castiel didn't dare to take his eyes off his clone long enough to look over at her, but he imagined that if he did, he would see that she was staring at the scene before her with wide, terrified eyes.

"Run," he instructed her, though she either didn't hear him, or was too terrified to follow his instructions.

He moved forward. The clone moved back. He swung. The clone jumped away just in time, but staggered slightly, his balance just the tiniest bit off.

There was only a second's window for Castiel to strike in. But then, a second was all he needed.

He rushed forward, raising the blade above his head. He used his opposite arm to shove straight into the clone forcing him back against the wall of the motel, holding him in place.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Felicity had her gun drawn now, and was pointing it toward the fight. "Get away from him," she shouted.

Castiel appreciated her attempts to help, but they really were not doing much good.

There wasn't time to worry about her now, though.

"Who are you?" Castiel demanded, leaning his face closer to the clone's and staring him straight in the eye, trying to read the answers out of them, but finding nothing. The clone's eyes were wide, and wild in a way that Castiel hoped that his own never were. He snarled, but refused to answer the question. Instead, he thrashed in Castiel's grip, struggling to get free.

Castiel sensed rather than saw the knife coming at him, and reacted instinctively, letting go of the clone with his left hand so that he could reach up and catch the clone's wrist, forcing the knife to still. The clone equaled him in strength, though, and for a second they were shoving against each other, the clone trying to force the knife down, and Castiel trying to hold him at bay.

The knife moved closer, and in an instant, Castiel realized that he was going to lose.

He did the only thing that he could think of.

He brought his own knife down and stabbed it straight into the center of the clone's chest.

The knife buried itself up to the hilt, and the clone staggered forward, his mouth opening and closing without a sound, pain written on every feature.

Then Castiel ripped the blade out. Blood spurted from the wound, and the clone collapsed.

Felicity was screaming, and he heard another voice – one of the motel's other guests, maybe – yelling for someone to call 911. And Castiel knew that he should do something. Run away, or find a way to contact Sam and Dean, or perhaps both. But for a minute, he stood frozen, watching as this copy of himself died, almost transfixed by the way that agony looked when it was written across his own features. It was, without a doubt, one of the most disturbing sights that he had ever encountered, second only to watching Dean be tortured by that witch.

Then Castiel snapped into focus. "It's alright," he said to Felicity, turning to face her, certain that she must be panicking now. "I'm not entirely certain of what is happening, but we'll figure it out. I'll call my partners-"

Something struck him across the back of the head, and his body crumpled. For a second, he blinked, wondering why he was suddenly eye-level with the grass, trying to fathom how he had possible ended up here. He was unconscious before he discovered the answer.