Fic: I Am Just. Kidding You.
Title: I Am Just. Kidding You.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for crude humour. Gen S4 spoilers.
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Word Count: 4, 000
Disclaimer: I disclaim it!
Summary: The Winchesters are investigating a haunted house. Dean teaches Castiel how to make That's What She Said jokes.
Sam and Dean Winchester sat in the latest in their endless series of cheesy motel rooms. The brothers had stumbled upon a hunt in an actual, plain old haunted house, and were staying somewhere in-between towns in central Minnesota. The room was decorated with wolves. Wolves in the snow on lamp shades, wolves in the trees as little figurines on the dressers, pictures of wolves playing with their brood of adorable wolf puppies.
Dean lounged on the bed furthest from the window, and closest to the table where Sam was buried in laptop-based research. He picked at the tan bedspread. “So what do you think it is?” he asked.
“It looks like just your standard haunting, Dean,” Sam replied. “Problem is-“
Sam was interrupted by a rustling of invisible wings over by the window. He sighed. “Would you not pop in and out like that?” Sam admonished the angel.
Dean chuckled. “That’s what she said.”
“”What who said?” wondered Castiel, looking around at though he’d missed something vital. “There are no females here.”
Sam rolled his eyes and Dean stifled a laugh. “No Cas, it’s a joke,” he explained. “See, someone says something that could be construed differently were it in a... well... a sexual context. Then you point it out by saying, ‘that’s what she said.’”
“You are referring to things females might say during sexual intercourse?”
“Yes, exactly!” beamed Dean, clapping his hands together in delight.
“This would be very funny,” Castiel observed.
“It’s not,” said Sam flatly.
“Oh, it totally is,” smiled Dean. “Don’t listen to him.”
Sam closed his laptop and stared at the angel, who stood by the window, framed by the light from the streetlamps and illuminated motel sign outside. “So?” Sam finally asked.
“So?” Castiel echoed.
“So what seal is breaking now? What heavenly duties have you come to push off on us?”
Castiel looked down at his shoes. He picked absently at his vessel’s cuticles for a moment before looking up, but made no eye contact with either Winchester. “I have no heavenly duties,” he said flatly.
Both Winchesters spoke at once. “Did something happen?” asked Dean, his eyes wide with alarm.
“Then why are you here?” wondered Sam.
Castiel’s eyes shot to meet Dean’s. “Nothing has happened to me, Dean,” he assured. “I am...” his gaze fell to the floor again as he trailed off. “They gave me vacation time.”
* * * *
“So they just gave you time off because you had to spend time in hell?” asked Dean incredulously. They had pushed the table closer to one of the beds, so that even thought there were only two chairs, all three could sit around it.
“Hell is a very stressful place for an angel,” Castiel protested, a stern expression across his lips. “My superiors were becoming worried that it was affecting my abilities in hand-to-hand combat.”
Dean eyed him suspiciously, and was maybe glaring just a hint of jealousy in the angel’s direction. It’s not like he ever took any time off, after all. “So naturally you figured you’d spend your time off with us.”
Sam joined his brother in the angel stare-down, waiting for Castiel’s response.
The angel sighed. “I got bored,” he admitted finally, then looked up brightly. “So what are you guys working on?”
Sam and Dean exchanged glances. He was kidding, right? The angel had to be kidding, but he looked to them in earnest. Goddamnit, thought Dean. They were going to have a tagalong for this job. As much as he was growing to mind Cas less and less lately, this... This was probably going to be a pain in the ass.
* * * *
Sam was finding it difficult to see his computer screen through Castiel’s head. The angel looked at the screen quizzically, and tilted his head so that his hair tickled Sam’s nose. “Hey!” grumped Sam. “Don’t come so close to my face!”
“That’s what she said,” Castiel said immediately.
Dean was stricken with a fit of loud guffaws, and just barely caught himself from falling off the bed. Sam’s face flushed and he scowled. Castiel’s head snapped from Winchester to Winchester. “Was this an appropriate use of the joke?” he asked, looking to Dean.
“Dean quickly composed himself. “Yeah, Cas. That was perfect.”
“Alright, Dean,” said Sam, trying to focus through all his scowling. “Teaching angels to make lewd jokes is fun and all, but it’s almost two AM. Can we maybe focus on the investigation?”
“House used to be a crack house, or a meth house or whatever. Burned down; foundation leftover. Three Jane Does. No idea which one’s the ghost,” Dean summed up with a half-hearted yawn. “Let’s just go to bed and figure it out in the morning.”
* * * *
Sam had done his research well, probably better than the local police had done. But then, the families of the Jane Doe’s apparently weren’t overly invested in any sort of investigation. No wonder this spirit was so pissed off. Sam had the three morgue shots, and theoretically, all they had to do was see the ghost and match her to her picture.
The house itself was currently inhabited by a fourth grade teacher, his two kids, and his mother, all of whom were varying degrees skeptical and scared. None so much as the grandmother, however, who’d begun blogging her nightly visits from the ghost, which was how Sam and Dean had heard about this job.
Sam, Dean and Castiel stood on the front porch of the new development home. Sam rang the bell and wiped his hair out of his face, tucking a few strands behind his ear. Castiel looked like he’d just noticed his vessel had hands, and he had no idea what to do with them. Dean glanced over at the newest member of their team and sighed heavily. There was no way this could be more awkward.
The door opened. One of the kids, a seven-year-old girl in a bandana and a Girl Scout cookies t-shirt that was several sizes too big stared up at Sam. “Uh... hello?”
“Hi, Krissy, is it?”
The girl nodded and looked to the other men. Castiel smiled meekly. Dean gave a small wave, and tried to keep from rolling his eyes. “We talked to your grandma online. She might’ve mentioned us.”
Krissy’s eyes widened and she looked like she might start clapping with happiness. “You’re the ghost hunters!” she exclaimed, before turning and calling into the house, “Grandma! The ghost hunters are here!”
Krissy invited them inside and gestured for them to sit on the couch. “Grandma!” she called out again, before turning seriously to guests. “The ghost is in my room every night. She’s scary and she moves stuff.” Krissy’s chin wobbled a bit, and she hugged her giant shirt around her.
An older woman, probably in her early sixties, appeared from the kitchen with a plate of cookies. She smiled gratefully. “I’m so glad you made it. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”
Dean snatched up one of the cookies and discovered they were right out of the oven, hot and melty. He tried to take a bite, as half the cookie escaped by drooping out of the way. Sam narrowed his eyes, giving Dean a look that said, “These people actually want our help, and you’re dumping cookie in your lap? Stop it. Now.”
Dean shrugged and smiled through melted chocolate chips. “It fell out of my mouth!”
“That’s what she said,” said Castiel with complete deadpan.
Dean had to hold a hand to his mouth to keep from spraying chunks of cookie everywhere. Sam’s forehead dropped to his palm. Castiel grinned widely at Krissy’s grandmother, waiting for approval.
The grandmother frowned and took a seat in a nearby armchair. “I’m Kathleen,” she introduced, reaching over to shake Sam’s hand. “But I suppose you must’ve deduced that. You must be Sam.”
Sam nodded.
“Hi, I’m Dean,” Dean waved from the other side of the couch.
Kathleen looked at Castiel, who was busy watching Dean pick chewed bits of cookie off of his palm with fascination. Sam elbowed Castiel in the arm. “He’s new to the team,” Sam explained.
“I’m Castiel,” he said, shifting a glance to Kathleen. He smiled.
“Castiel?” asked Krissy. “That sounds like a girl name.”
“Krissy,” her Grandmother scolded.
“So tell us about the ghost,” said Sam. “What sort of phenomena have you witnessed?”
“We see the ghost only at night,” said Kathleen. “But things move around during the daytime. The room might grow cold. It’s exactly the same as at night, only we can’t see her.”
Krissy shuddered and folded her knees up into her t-shirt. “Daddy says it’s the wind. He doesn’t think she’s real.”
“That’s what she said,” said Castiel.
Sam and Dean both glared at him. “Dude,” said Dean. “Stop it; that didn’t even make sense.”
* * * *
Moonlight filtered through the trees outside the window, casting shadows across Krissy’s bedspread. The girl was sleeping in her grandmother’s room tonight, in order for the Winchesters (and Castiel) to conduct their investigation. They'd been warned they might hear gunshots, but that it'd only be rock salt. Fortunately, the skeptical father and his son were gone for the week on a fishing trip, so none of this needed to be explained to him.
“Okay seriously Cas,” Dean was saying, “it’s considered inappropriate to make sex jokes when kids are in the room.”
“I’m sorry. I have much to learn about jokes.”
Dean rolled his eyes and sat down in a tiny, princess desk chair. He sighed boredly, tapping at Sam’s gun, which he’d left on the desk. They’d been waiting in the little girl’s room for the past hour, because based on Kathleen and Krissy’s stories, this was where the spirit was most often spotted. So far, however, they had seen zilch.
“Hey Sammy,” started Dean. “Don’t they usually cremate unidentified bodies?”
Sam frowned. “I think so, but maybe they didn’t this time?” He shrugged. “Maybe that’ll help us figure out which girl it is.”
Dean shook his head. “No way, dude. Part of her has got to be sticking around somewhere. Probably here at the house, or maybe her mom saved all her old baby teeth or something.”
Sam pondered this for a moment. “So what do you suggest we do? I’m not really sure we can go hunting down a Jane Doe’s baby teeth.”
“Ah, c’mon Sammy. It won’t be that hard.”
“That’s what she said,” said Castiel.
Sam giggled.
* * * *
Krissy’s room was freezing. Sam’s teeth were chattering, and Dean was rubbing his hands up and down his arms.
Dean’s princess chair started moving back and forth across the floor, making horrible scraping sounds. He reached out and grabbed the gun off the desk. The lampshade on Krissy’s bedside table rocked back and forth, scraping against the bulb.
Then there was the spirit. She was angry. And gross. One side of her face was burned away, and the skin of her arm on that side looked like it was about to slough off.
She picked up a teddy bear and hurled it at Sam.
“Dean, what the hell?” asked Sam. Dean had the gun with the rock salt, and was now being pelted with furniture from Krissy’s dollhouse.
“Your goddamn gun is jammed!” Dean shouted back.
“That’s what she said!”
* * * *
The experienced, manly ghost hunters and the angel of the lord ran down the hallway, away from the ghost of a young burn victim. She was yelling about how no one understood, and she would show everyone someday. She did not follow them down the hall, or down the stairwell.
“I think we should check the basement,” said Sam, reaching the landing on the first floor. “If the foundation is all that’s left from the original house, maybe we can find what’s keeping her here.”
“Dude! That joke was awesome!” Dean was grinning like a madman, and he held his hand up to Cas for a high five.
Castiel beamed, and timidly raised his hand to smack against Dean’s.
“Guys! Not the time,” Sam admonished. The ghost of, who Sam now recognized as Jane Doe #2, was glaring at them from the top of the stairs.
“Damn it! I left my gun, my working gun, in my jacket on the girl’s bed,” grumbled Dean. He looked around for a piece of iron and picked up a fireplace poker. “I’ll meet you guys in the basement.” He ran up the stairs, swiping at the ghost as he went. “I’ll be down in just a second!”
“That’s what she said!” Castiel called after him.
* * * *
Dean and Sam rummaged around the shelves in the basement, moving paint cans and boxes of winter clothes out of the way. “What are you looking for?” wondered Castiel.
“A loose brick of concrete, a crack in the walls, any old boxes that look like they might’ve gone through the fire. Anywhere some leftover remains might be hiding,” responded Sam.
“I will help,” offered Castiel, and began shoving one of the shelves away from the wall. It looked like it was going to tip over, and Castiel held up a hand, apparently holding it in place with angel powers.
“Dude, don’t push it so hard,” said Dean, shoving the shelf back into place. "You have to push it from the bottom."
“That’s what she said,” grinned Castiel.
“You know, I’m beginning to think teaching you how to make jokes was a mistake.”
“I’m sorry. Was I not funny?”
“No, Cas,” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re totally funny. I’m just tired.”
“Hey guys!” Sam called them over. “Check this out.”
It was a cookie tin. A scorched Santa and his reindeer smiled up from the lid. “I found it behind the water softener. It was under some extra bricks. They probably built up the walls a bit when they rebuilt.”
Sam opened the tin and found an assortment of pipes inside, a small stash of crystal meth, as well as several pictures.
“Do you think there could be enough saliva or whatever inside a pipe to keep a spirit around?” asked Dean.
“My understanding is that they burn stuff in pipes,” said Sam sarcastically. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe she was sucking on it. I don’t know.”
“That’s what she-“ Castiel stopped himself. “Let me see the pictures,” he said instead. Sam passed them over.
“Why would she just be sucking on it?” Sam asked. “They clearly had more drugs left.”
“This picture,” said Castiel. He held up a picture of two skinny, smiling people, one of them Jane Doe #2. They were standing by a lake where a willow tree wept over the water. The man in the picture was holding up a beer to the camera, as if to say, “cheers.”
“The back says, ‘our place,’” said Castiel. “Perhaps there is something there?”
Sam and Dean exchanged glances. “It’s worth checking out,” said Sam. “Does it say where the picture was taken?”
“No, but I saw the place on the way here. It is a couple of miles away,” Castiel replied.
“You’ll understand us one day!” someone screamed behind them.
They turned and Jane Doe #2 had been looking over their shoulders. “You’ll all be sorry! You’ll be so jealous!” she shrieked, and reached out her charred black hands to strangle Sam.
“Bitch!” yelled Dean, and shot her with rock salt. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, gathering up Jane Doe #2’s things in the box. “I say we check out the lake.”
* * * *
“Ah, I think I got some in my eye,” Dean complained.
“That’s what she said,” Castiel said automatically, smiling to himself.
Dean was annoyed, as he’d just gotten rock salt in his eye, but he was starting to find the laughter in the angel’s eyes to be adorable. He closed the trunk on the Impala, and turned to grin at Castiel.
“Seriously, dude,” said Sam. “You’ve got to stop making those jokes. You’re an angel!”
“I’m on vacation,” Castiel pointed out.
They had made it to the lake in the picture just in time to see the sun rise over the misty water. “Okay,” said Dean. “Let’s look around. See if you see anything that might’ve belonged to some drugged out chick who died in a fire.” Sam rolled his eyes and headed over to the willow tree.
“There’s a hat in the cattails,” said Dean, pointing. Sure enough, there was a pink trucker cap wedged between several cattails, a few feet out into the water.
Sam pulled off his shoes and stepped out into the water to reach it. Muck swirled between his toes. “Ugh, it’s so mushy!” he whined.
“That’s what she said,” Dean and Castiel shouted back at him.
He glared daggers in their direction as he swiped the hat out of the plants. Castiel looked at Dean seriously, and held up his palm to suggest they high five.
Dean slapped it and beamed at the angel. Sure, the jokes were kind of annoying, but they were also awesome.
“Can we just burn this thing and leave?” asked Sam bitterly, wiping his feet on the grass.
Dean held out his hand, and Sam passed the hat over before crouching down to put his shoes back on. Dean sprinkled the hat with salt, then struck a match to the brim. He tossed the whole thing on the ground as it burned.
“Do you think that will kill the ghost?” asked Castiel.
“I hope so. It might not've been her hat though. We should check back at the house.”
“I don’t think Kathleen likes me very much,” said Castiel, a slight pout on his lips.
Dean smirked. “Maybe you should lay off the sex humor when in the room with her little granddaughter, Cas.”
Castiel shrugged his trench coat around himself, and trudged back to the Impala.
* * * *
Dean, Sam and Castiel entered the house through the back door into the kitchen, to find Kathleen and Krissy having breakfast. Krissy’s eyes were wide and tired. “You made her mad,” she said. “She’s been screaming that you took it. She wants it back.”
Sam looked to Dean, who held up the box of the spirit’s stuff. “We found a picture of a lake,” explained Dean. “We went there to check it out.”
“Krissy, has she stopped? Did she go away?” Sam asked.
Krissy shook her head. “I can’t see her anymore, but she knocked over all the pictures.”
“When?”
“Just before you came in,” said Kathleen.
“Great," Sam sighed.
“Well, I’m gonna take this outside and burn it,” said Dean. “I think the saliva theory is still valid.”
Dishes rattled in the sink as Dean took the tin with him. “Bring it back!” screeched Jane Doe #2. She appeared next the refrigerator and opened it. She started throwing food and Sam and Castiel.
Krissy slid under the table and cowered silently behind a chair. Then Jane Doe #2 burst into flame. She screamed, extinguished, and was gone.
“What happened?” asked Kathleen, her eyes wide and frightened; hands wringing her nightgown.
“Something in that tin box was keeping her here,” Sam explained. “Dean burned it. She’s gone.”
“She’s gone?” asked Krissy, emerging from her hiding place.
Dean stood in the doorway, nodding. “She’s gone,” he assured the little girl.
* * * *
“I guess you were right about the saliva keeping the spirit here,” said Castiel as they walked down the driveway. “That’s very impressive. Has that ever happened before?”
“Nope.”
“And you thought of it anyway. Very nice work, Dean Winchester.”
“Don’t boost his ego like that, Cas. He’ll just rub it in your face all weekend.”
“That’s what she said,” Castiel laughed, and Sam groaned.
“Who knows, maybe there was a stray hair in the box or something. I burned the whole thing, just to be safe.”
Castiel slid into the back seat of the car, Dean into the driver’s seat, and Sam sat shotgun. “I’m starved,” said Dean. “Let’s get breakfast, then sleep off the night’s hunt.”
Sam nodded in agreement.
“You know,” said Castiel, “that didn’t take nearly as long as I expected.”
Sam and Dean grinned at each other and looked back at the angel in their back seat. “That’s what she said,” they shouted in unison.
THE END.
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for crude humour. Gen S4 spoilers.
Characters: Sam, Dean, Castiel
Word Count: 4, 000
Disclaimer: I disclaim it!
Summary: The Winchesters are investigating a haunted house. Dean teaches Castiel how to make That's What She Said jokes.
Sam and Dean Winchester sat in the latest in their endless series of cheesy motel rooms. The brothers had stumbled upon a hunt in an actual, plain old haunted house, and were staying somewhere in-between towns in central Minnesota. The room was decorated with wolves. Wolves in the snow on lamp shades, wolves in the trees as little figurines on the dressers, pictures of wolves playing with their brood of adorable wolf puppies.
Dean lounged on the bed furthest from the window, and closest to the table where Sam was buried in laptop-based research. He picked at the tan bedspread. “So what do you think it is?” he asked.
“It looks like just your standard haunting, Dean,” Sam replied. “Problem is-“
Sam was interrupted by a rustling of invisible wings over by the window. He sighed. “Would you not pop in and out like that?” Sam admonished the angel.
Dean chuckled. “That’s what she said.”
“”What who said?” wondered Castiel, looking around at though he’d missed something vital. “There are no females here.”
Sam rolled his eyes and Dean stifled a laugh. “No Cas, it’s a joke,” he explained. “See, someone says something that could be construed differently were it in a... well... a sexual context. Then you point it out by saying, ‘that’s what she said.’”
“You are referring to things females might say during sexual intercourse?”
“Yes, exactly!” beamed Dean, clapping his hands together in delight.
“This would be very funny,” Castiel observed.
“It’s not,” said Sam flatly.
“Oh, it totally is,” smiled Dean. “Don’t listen to him.”
Sam closed his laptop and stared at the angel, who stood by the window, framed by the light from the streetlamps and illuminated motel sign outside. “So?” Sam finally asked.
“So?” Castiel echoed.
“So what seal is breaking now? What heavenly duties have you come to push off on us?”
Castiel looked down at his shoes. He picked absently at his vessel’s cuticles for a moment before looking up, but made no eye contact with either Winchester. “I have no heavenly duties,” he said flatly.
Both Winchesters spoke at once. “Did something happen?” asked Dean, his eyes wide with alarm.
“Then why are you here?” wondered Sam.
Castiel’s eyes shot to meet Dean’s. “Nothing has happened to me, Dean,” he assured. “I am...” his gaze fell to the floor again as he trailed off. “They gave me vacation time.”
* * * *
“So they just gave you time off because you had to spend time in hell?” asked Dean incredulously. They had pushed the table closer to one of the beds, so that even thought there were only two chairs, all three could sit around it.
“Hell is a very stressful place for an angel,” Castiel protested, a stern expression across his lips. “My superiors were becoming worried that it was affecting my abilities in hand-to-hand combat.”
Dean eyed him suspiciously, and was maybe glaring just a hint of jealousy in the angel’s direction. It’s not like he ever took any time off, after all. “So naturally you figured you’d spend your time off with us.”
Sam joined his brother in the angel stare-down, waiting for Castiel’s response.
The angel sighed. “I got bored,” he admitted finally, then looked up brightly. “So what are you guys working on?”
Sam and Dean exchanged glances. He was kidding, right? The angel had to be kidding, but he looked to them in earnest. Goddamnit, thought Dean. They were going to have a tagalong for this job. As much as he was growing to mind Cas less and less lately, this... This was probably going to be a pain in the ass.
* * * *
Sam was finding it difficult to see his computer screen through Castiel’s head. The angel looked at the screen quizzically, and tilted his head so that his hair tickled Sam’s nose. “Hey!” grumped Sam. “Don’t come so close to my face!”
“That’s what she said,” Castiel said immediately.
Dean was stricken with a fit of loud guffaws, and just barely caught himself from falling off the bed. Sam’s face flushed and he scowled. Castiel’s head snapped from Winchester to Winchester. “Was this an appropriate use of the joke?” he asked, looking to Dean.
“Dean quickly composed himself. “Yeah, Cas. That was perfect.”
“Alright, Dean,” said Sam, trying to focus through all his scowling. “Teaching angels to make lewd jokes is fun and all, but it’s almost two AM. Can we maybe focus on the investigation?”
“House used to be a crack house, or a meth house or whatever. Burned down; foundation leftover. Three Jane Does. No idea which one’s the ghost,” Dean summed up with a half-hearted yawn. “Let’s just go to bed and figure it out in the morning.”
* * * *
Sam had done his research well, probably better than the local police had done. But then, the families of the Jane Doe’s apparently weren’t overly invested in any sort of investigation. No wonder this spirit was so pissed off. Sam had the three morgue shots, and theoretically, all they had to do was see the ghost and match her to her picture.
The house itself was currently inhabited by a fourth grade teacher, his two kids, and his mother, all of whom were varying degrees skeptical and scared. None so much as the grandmother, however, who’d begun blogging her nightly visits from the ghost, which was how Sam and Dean had heard about this job.
Sam, Dean and Castiel stood on the front porch of the new development home. Sam rang the bell and wiped his hair out of his face, tucking a few strands behind his ear. Castiel looked like he’d just noticed his vessel had hands, and he had no idea what to do with them. Dean glanced over at the newest member of their team and sighed heavily. There was no way this could be more awkward.
The door opened. One of the kids, a seven-year-old girl in a bandana and a Girl Scout cookies t-shirt that was several sizes too big stared up at Sam. “Uh... hello?”
“Hi, Krissy, is it?”
The girl nodded and looked to the other men. Castiel smiled meekly. Dean gave a small wave, and tried to keep from rolling his eyes. “We talked to your grandma online. She might’ve mentioned us.”
Krissy’s eyes widened and she looked like she might start clapping with happiness. “You’re the ghost hunters!” she exclaimed, before turning and calling into the house, “Grandma! The ghost hunters are here!”
Krissy invited them inside and gestured for them to sit on the couch. “Grandma!” she called out again, before turning seriously to guests. “The ghost is in my room every night. She’s scary and she moves stuff.” Krissy’s chin wobbled a bit, and she hugged her giant shirt around her.
An older woman, probably in her early sixties, appeared from the kitchen with a plate of cookies. She smiled gratefully. “I’m so glad you made it. I didn’t know what I was going to do.”
Dean snatched up one of the cookies and discovered they were right out of the oven, hot and melty. He tried to take a bite, as half the cookie escaped by drooping out of the way. Sam narrowed his eyes, giving Dean a look that said, “These people actually want our help, and you’re dumping cookie in your lap? Stop it. Now.”
Dean shrugged and smiled through melted chocolate chips. “It fell out of my mouth!”
“That’s what she said,” said Castiel with complete deadpan.
Dean had to hold a hand to his mouth to keep from spraying chunks of cookie everywhere. Sam’s forehead dropped to his palm. Castiel grinned widely at Krissy’s grandmother, waiting for approval.
The grandmother frowned and took a seat in a nearby armchair. “I’m Kathleen,” she introduced, reaching over to shake Sam’s hand. “But I suppose you must’ve deduced that. You must be Sam.”
Sam nodded.
“Hi, I’m Dean,” Dean waved from the other side of the couch.
Kathleen looked at Castiel, who was busy watching Dean pick chewed bits of cookie off of his palm with fascination. Sam elbowed Castiel in the arm. “He’s new to the team,” Sam explained.
“I’m Castiel,” he said, shifting a glance to Kathleen. He smiled.
“Castiel?” asked Krissy. “That sounds like a girl name.”
“Krissy,” her Grandmother scolded.
“So tell us about the ghost,” said Sam. “What sort of phenomena have you witnessed?”
“We see the ghost only at night,” said Kathleen. “But things move around during the daytime. The room might grow cold. It’s exactly the same as at night, only we can’t see her.”
Krissy shuddered and folded her knees up into her t-shirt. “Daddy says it’s the wind. He doesn’t think she’s real.”
“That’s what she said,” said Castiel.
Sam and Dean both glared at him. “Dude,” said Dean. “Stop it; that didn’t even make sense.”
* * * *
Moonlight filtered through the trees outside the window, casting shadows across Krissy’s bedspread. The girl was sleeping in her grandmother’s room tonight, in order for the Winchesters (and Castiel) to conduct their investigation. They'd been warned they might hear gunshots, but that it'd only be rock salt. Fortunately, the skeptical father and his son were gone for the week on a fishing trip, so none of this needed to be explained to him.
“Okay seriously Cas,” Dean was saying, “it’s considered inappropriate to make sex jokes when kids are in the room.”
“I’m sorry. I have much to learn about jokes.”
Dean rolled his eyes and sat down in a tiny, princess desk chair. He sighed boredly, tapping at Sam’s gun, which he’d left on the desk. They’d been waiting in the little girl’s room for the past hour, because based on Kathleen and Krissy’s stories, this was where the spirit was most often spotted. So far, however, they had seen zilch.
“Hey Sammy,” started Dean. “Don’t they usually cremate unidentified bodies?”
Sam frowned. “I think so, but maybe they didn’t this time?” He shrugged. “Maybe that’ll help us figure out which girl it is.”
Dean shook his head. “No way, dude. Part of her has got to be sticking around somewhere. Probably here at the house, or maybe her mom saved all her old baby teeth or something.”
Sam pondered this for a moment. “So what do you suggest we do? I’m not really sure we can go hunting down a Jane Doe’s baby teeth.”
“Ah, c’mon Sammy. It won’t be that hard.”
“That’s what she said,” said Castiel.
Sam giggled.
* * * *
Krissy’s room was freezing. Sam’s teeth were chattering, and Dean was rubbing his hands up and down his arms.
Dean’s princess chair started moving back and forth across the floor, making horrible scraping sounds. He reached out and grabbed the gun off the desk. The lampshade on Krissy’s bedside table rocked back and forth, scraping against the bulb.
Then there was the spirit. She was angry. And gross. One side of her face was burned away, and the skin of her arm on that side looked like it was about to slough off.
She picked up a teddy bear and hurled it at Sam.
“Dean, what the hell?” asked Sam. Dean had the gun with the rock salt, and was now being pelted with furniture from Krissy’s dollhouse.
“Your goddamn gun is jammed!” Dean shouted back.
“That’s what she said!”
* * * *
The experienced, manly ghost hunters and the angel of the lord ran down the hallway, away from the ghost of a young burn victim. She was yelling about how no one understood, and she would show everyone someday. She did not follow them down the hall, or down the stairwell.
“I think we should check the basement,” said Sam, reaching the landing on the first floor. “If the foundation is all that’s left from the original house, maybe we can find what’s keeping her here.”
“Dude! That joke was awesome!” Dean was grinning like a madman, and he held his hand up to Cas for a high five.
Castiel beamed, and timidly raised his hand to smack against Dean’s.
“Guys! Not the time,” Sam admonished. The ghost of, who Sam now recognized as Jane Doe #2, was glaring at them from the top of the stairs.
“Damn it! I left my gun, my working gun, in my jacket on the girl’s bed,” grumbled Dean. He looked around for a piece of iron and picked up a fireplace poker. “I’ll meet you guys in the basement.” He ran up the stairs, swiping at the ghost as he went. “I’ll be down in just a second!”
“That’s what she said!” Castiel called after him.
* * * *
Dean and Sam rummaged around the shelves in the basement, moving paint cans and boxes of winter clothes out of the way. “What are you looking for?” wondered Castiel.
“A loose brick of concrete, a crack in the walls, any old boxes that look like they might’ve gone through the fire. Anywhere some leftover remains might be hiding,” responded Sam.
“I will help,” offered Castiel, and began shoving one of the shelves away from the wall. It looked like it was going to tip over, and Castiel held up a hand, apparently holding it in place with angel powers.
“Dude, don’t push it so hard,” said Dean, shoving the shelf back into place. "You have to push it from the bottom."
“That’s what she said,” grinned Castiel.
“You know, I’m beginning to think teaching you how to make jokes was a mistake.”
“I’m sorry. Was I not funny?”
“No, Cas,” Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “You’re totally funny. I’m just tired.”
“Hey guys!” Sam called them over. “Check this out.”
It was a cookie tin. A scorched Santa and his reindeer smiled up from the lid. “I found it behind the water softener. It was under some extra bricks. They probably built up the walls a bit when they rebuilt.”
Sam opened the tin and found an assortment of pipes inside, a small stash of crystal meth, as well as several pictures.
“Do you think there could be enough saliva or whatever inside a pipe to keep a spirit around?” asked Dean.
“My understanding is that they burn stuff in pipes,” said Sam sarcastically. “I don’t think so.”
“Maybe she was sucking on it. I don’t know.”
“That’s what she-“ Castiel stopped himself. “Let me see the pictures,” he said instead. Sam passed them over.
“Why would she just be sucking on it?” Sam asked. “They clearly had more drugs left.”
“This picture,” said Castiel. He held up a picture of two skinny, smiling people, one of them Jane Doe #2. They were standing by a lake where a willow tree wept over the water. The man in the picture was holding up a beer to the camera, as if to say, “cheers.”
“The back says, ‘our place,’” said Castiel. “Perhaps there is something there?”
Sam and Dean exchanged glances. “It’s worth checking out,” said Sam. “Does it say where the picture was taken?”
“No, but I saw the place on the way here. It is a couple of miles away,” Castiel replied.
“You’ll understand us one day!” someone screamed behind them.
They turned and Jane Doe #2 had been looking over their shoulders. “You’ll all be sorry! You’ll be so jealous!” she shrieked, and reached out her charred black hands to strangle Sam.
“Bitch!” yelled Dean, and shot her with rock salt. “Let’s get out of here,” he suggested, gathering up Jane Doe #2’s things in the box. “I say we check out the lake.”
* * * *
“Ah, I think I got some in my eye,” Dean complained.
“That’s what she said,” Castiel said automatically, smiling to himself.
Dean was annoyed, as he’d just gotten rock salt in his eye, but he was starting to find the laughter in the angel’s eyes to be adorable. He closed the trunk on the Impala, and turned to grin at Castiel.
“Seriously, dude,” said Sam. “You’ve got to stop making those jokes. You’re an angel!”
“I’m on vacation,” Castiel pointed out.
They had made it to the lake in the picture just in time to see the sun rise over the misty water. “Okay,” said Dean. “Let’s look around. See if you see anything that might’ve belonged to some drugged out chick who died in a fire.” Sam rolled his eyes and headed over to the willow tree.
“There’s a hat in the cattails,” said Dean, pointing. Sure enough, there was a pink trucker cap wedged between several cattails, a few feet out into the water.
Sam pulled off his shoes and stepped out into the water to reach it. Muck swirled between his toes. “Ugh, it’s so mushy!” he whined.
“That’s what she said,” Dean and Castiel shouted back at him.
He glared daggers in their direction as he swiped the hat out of the plants. Castiel looked at Dean seriously, and held up his palm to suggest they high five.
Dean slapped it and beamed at the angel. Sure, the jokes were kind of annoying, but they were also awesome.
“Can we just burn this thing and leave?” asked Sam bitterly, wiping his feet on the grass.
Dean held out his hand, and Sam passed the hat over before crouching down to put his shoes back on. Dean sprinkled the hat with salt, then struck a match to the brim. He tossed the whole thing on the ground as it burned.
“Do you think that will kill the ghost?” asked Castiel.
“I hope so. It might not've been her hat though. We should check back at the house.”
“I don’t think Kathleen likes me very much,” said Castiel, a slight pout on his lips.
Dean smirked. “Maybe you should lay off the sex humor when in the room with her little granddaughter, Cas.”
Castiel shrugged his trench coat around himself, and trudged back to the Impala.
* * * *
Dean, Sam and Castiel entered the house through the back door into the kitchen, to find Kathleen and Krissy having breakfast. Krissy’s eyes were wide and tired. “You made her mad,” she said. “She’s been screaming that you took it. She wants it back.”
Sam looked to Dean, who held up the box of the spirit’s stuff. “We found a picture of a lake,” explained Dean. “We went there to check it out.”
“Krissy, has she stopped? Did she go away?” Sam asked.
Krissy shook her head. “I can’t see her anymore, but she knocked over all the pictures.”
“When?”
“Just before you came in,” said Kathleen.
“Great," Sam sighed.
“Well, I’m gonna take this outside and burn it,” said Dean. “I think the saliva theory is still valid.”
Dishes rattled in the sink as Dean took the tin with him. “Bring it back!” screeched Jane Doe #2. She appeared next the refrigerator and opened it. She started throwing food and Sam and Castiel.
Krissy slid under the table and cowered silently behind a chair. Then Jane Doe #2 burst into flame. She screamed, extinguished, and was gone.
“What happened?” asked Kathleen, her eyes wide and frightened; hands wringing her nightgown.
“Something in that tin box was keeping her here,” Sam explained. “Dean burned it. She’s gone.”
“She’s gone?” asked Krissy, emerging from her hiding place.
Dean stood in the doorway, nodding. “She’s gone,” he assured the little girl.
* * * *
“I guess you were right about the saliva keeping the spirit here,” said Castiel as they walked down the driveway. “That’s very impressive. Has that ever happened before?”
“Nope.”
“And you thought of it anyway. Very nice work, Dean Winchester.”
“Don’t boost his ego like that, Cas. He’ll just rub it in your face all weekend.”
“That’s what she said,” Castiel laughed, and Sam groaned.
“Who knows, maybe there was a stray hair in the box or something. I burned the whole thing, just to be safe.”
Castiel slid into the back seat of the car, Dean into the driver’s seat, and Sam sat shotgun. “I’m starved,” said Dean. “Let’s get breakfast, then sleep off the night’s hunt.”
Sam nodded in agreement.
“You know,” said Castiel, “that didn’t take nearly as long as I expected.”
Sam and Dean grinned at each other and looked back at the angel in their back seat. “That’s what she said,” they shouted in unison.
THE END.