Authors Note: Canon AUset in post season 5 with a fact or two from season 6. Sam is out of the cage and Lucifer free with soul intact, Cas is an angel again but still cut off from Heaven and Gabriel has been brought back too. I came up with the idea of this fic when I was reintroduced to Supernatural and I realized just how much I had been missing. I hadn't really seen it since the middle of season 3 when I dropped it and when I caught it again with watching Lazarus Rising on a re-run, I couldn't believe that I had let this series slip through my hands. Seasons 4 and 5 have been my all time favorites and I'm still catching up with 6 since I missed most of the beginning this year and started off again right when Sam got his soul back. I also need to give credit where credit is due. After reading "Saving Grace" from MissAnnThropic, I suddenly decided to get back into my favorite hobby after a couple years of abandoning it, and it is actually this story that gave me the push to start writing my own. If you haven't read it, then I suggest you do so because it is a beautiful piece.

Written: 16 February 2011

Soundtrack: Falling Again by Lacuna Coil

Word Count: 7900+

Category:Dean W./Castiel

Content: Violence and adult language.

Rating: T

Warnings: Adult Language, Major Character Death

Genres: Hurt/Comfort, Tragedy, Drama, Angst, Friendship, Family, Mystery, Suspense, Spiritual, Action/Adventure, Humor

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Castiel, Bobby Singer, Gabriel, Raphael, Joshua

Original Fictional Characters: Isabelle Cartwright, Jennifer Morgan, Elizael, Barakiel, Azreal

Disclaimer: Obviously, I do not possess any legal rights to anything to do with this series especially its characters. I'm sure we are all aware of that but this fact must always be noted due to this websites guidelines.

~ooo~

Title: When Our Prayers Go Unanswered

Author: anonymous-unknown

Beta: None

Summary: Dean never believed in miracles. In his experience they just didn't exist, not without some sort of strings attached to them. That was the deal. It was *always* a deal. But this time was different. This he was willing to beg for, even die again for. No matter who listened, he was praying that this time, someone would answer.

…

"Miracles occur naturally as expressions of love. The real miracle is the love that inspires them. In this sense everything that comes from love is a miracle."

Marie Lloyd (1870-1922)

Chapter 1

So this is how it was going to end. After everything they had been through and all the times they had fought, the sacrifices they'd endured, and all the weight that had been put on their shoulders, it still wasn't enough? This wasn't right, and it sure as hell wasn't fair. How could it be? Why did they have to go through this time and time again after all these years of fighting for the betterment of it all? How could this possibly be just? He was the only one trying to fix the problem─ no, not problem. More like crisis upstairs, in His house, and yet this, this was what he got for his efforts? This is the thanks he received? Dean had been passed fed up and found himself now standing at why. He wanted answers and he wanted them yesterday. Hell he wanted them a God damn week ago when this whole crap pile started, but, of course, Dean Winchester wasn't good enough for a response. Not from Him.

Then again, he never had been…had he?

So then why was he expecting anything different now? What was the point? Was there a rhyme or reason for it? Was it faith that brought him to this moment? Was it courage? No. It couldn't have been. He never answered him when he found himself in these circumstances. In these always desperate circumstances. Everyone who had ever brought something good into his life got taken away from it. And for what? what?

"I used to believe in You. And this, this is what You do? This is how You let things go?"

Dean gritted his teeth, his words coming out in soft whispers, holding back the livid screams he wanted to unleash out towards the stars above. The mounting frustration of the past few days had finally reached its tipping point, and hopelessness was slowly starting to creep itself in, like a wave that mercilessly dragged him under and held him down without so much of a chance at fighting back.

Dean had sworn to himself when this all began that he wouldn't give up, couldn't give up; he had to keeping fighting no matter what. Yet no matter what he did, he could find no other reason to keep fighting. After everything he had tried and every effort he had put forth, it had all amounted to nothing. It only brought on more disappointment and there was only so much he could take. He was strong, but had been so for too long. The cracks were starting to show.

He buried his face in his hands as he freely let himself cry. The shame of tears had long been gone. He couldn't stop himself even if he wanted to. Trying to would take far too much effort at this point.

He passed a hand through his hair and looked up, continuing to pour out his pleas to anyone who would listen, anyone who could answer. All he ever wanted was an answer, if there ever was one granted for him.

Why couldn't he have something just this once?

"He did everything You ever asked for. He gave You everything. He gave You more and this is the thanks he gets?" Dean could feel the anger boiling inside him, but it was nothing compared to the unrelenting sorrow that had buried itself even deeper within him. He was angry, confused, betrayed, and beyond desperate at this point. He wanted nothing more than to get a sign, any sign, but knew that this would be just like every other time. Always the same result. A cry for help, and nothing but silence in return.

"He was the only one who believed in You. He was the only one who still served You when everyone else turned their backs and still You let him down at every single turn. What the hell kind of father does that, huh? Why would You do that to him?" Dean held still, still hoping for something, but he got nothing. It was always nothing. That nothing brought upon rage, and he snapped. "Damn it! Why?"

The revulsion of it all finally came crashing down, all its weight piling one on top of the other on top of the other. It felt like an explosion in his brain, quietly waiting for the right moment to go off and release its final fury. There was no more holding back, not this time. Dean didn't care anymore if he was insulting the man upstairs. He was pissed, had every right to be, and he would let Him know exactly what he thought of Him. Of how little he thought of Him. This wasn't right by any means, God's plan or not. To Dean, this was bull, and he was sick of playing games. He owed them. God owed them. God needed to fix this, and Dean needed him to fix it. Dean had held on for too long, had done more than enough, and now was the time for Him to step up. Dean was ready, and Dean would tell him.

His words never came though.

They lay on his tongue, itching for release, but Dean couldn't come to grips to make the final move and say it. His words lay dying, and he felt them slowly fall away until they stopped. It never came.

It was all becoming too much now. His rage was starting to break down all his walls, making them crumble one by one until they were merely dust of what once stood. He felt so lost and broken, he was broken, and the flood of emotions that he had held back all this time since this had begun was starting to consume everything he had. It was the strongest agony he had felt in years, worse than the anguish he had ever experienced in Hell, and Dean thought that such pain could never be exceeded. He thought that this must be what it felt like when the mighty would start falling. He thought, this must be what it feels like to have no hope.

It was this pivotal moment that now found him standing in the open field of Bobby's home, looking up for spiritual guidance from the one person he thought could give him any form of blessed harmony. He didn't care if it was just a little bit. He needed it. Spiritual wounds were becoming too difficult to heal for Dean nowadays, and he felt that the strength to do so had all been used up.

…And yet, how did he find the strength to keep fighting still? Where did it all come from when it seemed that there was nothing left for him to give? Why did he keep fighting, when he wanted so badly to give up?

His heart ached as he took in one last deep and shaking breath and allowed himself to succumb to his pain, carefully lowering one knee to the cold dusty ground. Looking up, he slowly brought his hands together and folded them tightly in front of his chest, squeezing them with all the might in the world as he whispered over his numbing heart.

Any sign, he thought. I'll take any sign.

He shifted; hands woven, heart pounding, mind weary and thoughts racing. All he wanted was this, a chance to fix things and make them right, to make it as if it had never happened. All he wanted was this one thing, and if he were granted this one miracle, this one chance to save him, he would ask in return for nothing else. All Dean wanted was a chance, and with it, he would grant his loyalty to Him. All of him. If only just for this.

"Please, I'm praying to you, please…" He sighed, a fresh tear sliding down his cheek. Gathering all his faith in his next words, he sent a silent prayer up above…hoping that someone would hear his plea.

"God… If You can hear me, I'm begging You… I'm begging You please… Please help me…"

The angel watched from afar as the Righteous Man continued to pray towards the heavens, hoping with all the faith in the world that someone could answer his prayers, and give him the miracle he so desperately desired.

How the hell did it all come to this...?

Estherville, Iowa – One Year Earlier

To say that this case was weird had to be the understatement of the century. Nope, scratch that. The millennium. Three deaths, all in the same weird ass way and all within a three week period. The Winchesters had to admit it. They were at a complete loss with this one, and in their experience, being the experts that they were and all, they should have been able to figure this out. All the evidence pointed to a ghost, but as they dug further and further into the records they had found no previous deaths in the home and no passing of any family, friends, or anyone for that matter on the entire property. It was like everything was in complete darkness one day, and then the next someone just decided to flip the lights and start a killing spree. Awesome.

In other business, and more important at the moment thanks in partially to protesting from his stomach, was breakfast.

Sam went about his own routine of picking out the most healthy thing on the menu of their latest diner visit, but Dean merely frowned as he looked through his own and scoured down at the long list of items. There was a lot to pick from at this place, heck the menu was practically a book than a pamphlet, and for once it left him at a complete loss for what to choose.

The place reminded him of an old ladies house and hunting cabin all mashed up into one, with such questionable décor that the guy who owned the place probably let his grandmother decorate, or so Dean assumed. The white walls were covered in old pink floral wallpaper that was peeling at the edges in some spots, and rustic old brass oil lamps hung above every table.

Dean continued to stare down at his menu, but found his eyes still wanting to wander around to take in the rest of the glorious architecture that the place offered. Seriously, who the heck came up with the design of this place? And why did it bug him so much? Dean just shook his head, and continued to look around.

Large beams were positioned carefully throughout the restaurant, usually in between every single booth that lined the wood paneled walls, and the black and white photos that were nailed into each one had to be from parts of the town's history. The place smelled strongly of cooking oil, sugar and lemonade, with just a hint of some overused lavender air freshener and bleach filled cleaning agents. The front counter was positioned right in the middle of the entire restaurant, caseloads of freshly baked pastries and rolling chairs bordering the counter itself. The majority of the seats were already taken by those just passing through and the regular local residents, sipping away at orange juice, picking at muffins and eating cold cereal. Even the service was bustling, the waitresses attending to every need, all a blur of small pink and white uniforms. Just your typical, small town place it seemed.

Dean looked back down at the menu and continued to scan through it, now that he had gotten a good share of sizing up his surroundings. Even during meal time, he always considered his openings, exit strategies and choices of offenses/defenses. You'd think him paranoid, but you never knew when something nasty was going to interrupt your morning.

"You decided yet?" Sam asked, breaking him out of his trance.

Dean had been so busy wrapping his head around other things that he barely even noticed his brother staring at him, giving him that squinty eyed look and wondering what was going on in that head of his. His mind did tend to escape him sometimes, no denying that one there.

"Uhhhhh yeah." No. "I think I'll just go with…"

Coffee was a given, but as for what he wanted for his meal, well, he might as well start posting items on a board and throwing darts to see where they landed. Since when had the idea of breakfast become this damn hard? After several moments without a response and an arched eyebrow from Sam later, Dean just shut the menu and smiled, putting it to the side and facing his brother. Too many choices was always a bad thing for him anyway.

"Why don't you just pick something for me."

That gotSam looking at him dumbfounded, the words in his brain stuttering and the ones wanting to come out of his mouth just flat out dead on took Sam a second to recover from the shock of his brothers answer, and another to find his voice and just generate a response. In all honesty, he was surprised he even got anything to slip through at the moment. Or, you know, period.

"You're kidding."

Either Sam was hearing things or Dean had actually just given him the reigns in deciding what to feed the man. Now he knew the older hunters diet almost as much as he knew every freckle on the back of his hand, and considering how unhealthy it was he would have been glad to insist on fruit and juice or even a breakfast salad. But Dean didn't know what he wanted and put Sam in the driver's seat to pick his meal, and that was enough to call the press. An over exaggeration but you get the point.

"What?" Dean noticed Sam's slow reaction time and would have thought that the kid was having a stroke, had he not blinked that next second.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah." Dean answered simply, giving Sam a shrug. "What's the big deal?"

"The big deal? Dean, you barely let me drive the Impala and now you're letting me choose your food?" If Sam didn't have his jaw attached to his face it would probably be on the floor by now.

"Dude, I just don't know what I want. Why are you acting like it's a life or death decision?"

"It's not. I'm just…" Sam scoffed. "I'm shocked."

Sam let out a small laugh as if this had just turned from awkward to funny. This was Dean, his big brother actually letting him decide what he should and should not eat. It was weird to say the least, considering the man used to spoon feed him all the time as early as 6 months of age.

"Whatever. Just order something, Princess."

Sam continued to chuckle as he went back to the menu and seriously contemplated whether he should order something healthy. Dean eating an apple that wasn't glazed in starch and cinnamon and surrounded by pastry crust? That'll be the day.

It didn't even take another moment after that thought crossed Sam's mind that a small waitress walked up to their table and greeted them.

He could already practically feel Dean's eyes sizing up the girl, and without even having to read her own body language for more than 2 seconds, Sam was already well aware that his brother didn't stand a chance.

Don't even bother, he thought. Of course Sam also knew that when it came to the ladies, Dean never could listen to his upstairs brain.

"Good morning gentleman. What can I get started for you today?"

The first thing Dean registered besides the small and curvy frame was her sweet girl next door persona and young gentle voice. She couldn't have been much taller than 5'2, subtracting for the shoes, and looked to be on the younger side of her 20's. Her skin was a natural pale bronze, with eyes that were sharp and rich like chocolate, and hair that was bright and dark as a polished onyx stone. She held it back in a loose bun, and Dean could see a few wisps that had fallen out of the tie to show that it reached at least to her middle back. Bangs framed the sides of her face down to her cheeks, which held a smooth complexion, easily seen by the fact that it held absolutely no traces of makeup on it. All in all, the girl looked au-natural, a high score in his book any day of the week.

"Yes, uh," He took one quick glance at her name tag and gave her one of his signature smiles. He always brought them out when he was clearly asking for a pick up. Same just rolled his eyes. "Isabelle, is it?"

She softly nodded and smiled back, the expression on her face telling him that she wasn't the type and that he should just move on. The look alone almost made him cringe and caused the nerves in his stomach to tighten. He could practically hear Sam stifling back a laugh. "She doesn't play Dean," he mouthed.

It was almost enough to make him give up right then and there. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd think that look almost reminded him of─.

"Are you gonna order?"

Dean nearly jumped at the sound of her voice, which nearly had Sam doubling over in laughter and trying hard not to show it. He went from smooth to jumpy in less than 10 seconds flat. That had to be a new record in any book. Sam just straightened up and cleared his throat, biting down at his cheek as he tried to suppress his laughter. Dean just gave him a look that told Sam he could shove it.

"Yeah, I uh," Dean quickly cleared his throat and hastily pretended to be scouring through the menu, while she in turn bit down at the inside of her cheek and tried not to laugh herself. Dean didn't need to look. He was certain that she thought him an idiot.

He couldn't even think right now he had been so thrown. Who would have figured the chick was capable of going from sweet and lovingly innocent to straightforward and intimidating, while still keeping that gentle on the outside yet tough on the inside faç only other person who had ever managed to do that to him was, well, Cas. SOB could scare the living daylights outta ya if you ever pissed him off. Cue sparks and exploding lights and thunder people. BAMF in the building.

Finally Dean gave up on the distraction and picked something ordinary. He didn't have the energy for much else now.

"I'll just have the special. Scrambled." He said finally, throwing himself out of his thoughts and carefully handing the menu back to her, his thumbs now twiddling together on the table in front of him. She just merely chuckled to herself and took the menu gingerly.

"Of course. And your friend here?"

Sam merely glanced at Dean, whose eyes were now locked tight on the tables vinyl pattern, and finally let out the small laugh he was suppressing at his brothers expense. He would probably get back at him for that later. For now, he simply looked up at the girl and made his order of pancakes, scrambled eggs and fruit, also adding the orders of coffee and handing her back his own menu. With a simple 'No problem' from her, she pocketed the menus and headed back to the kitchen, now out of sight.

Dean couldn't help but shrink his shoulders in relief.

"I think she likes you." Sam joked, chuckling to himself.

"Shut up."

Sam laughed again as his brother just groaned to himself. Seriously, totally coming off his game here.

Not even a minute later she was back with their cups of fresh black coffee, cream, a glass of water for each with two straws. After asking if they needed anything else until their food was ready, she was suddenly interrupted by another waitress; a taller, softly curled blonde with peach skin and crystal eyes, someone that Dean would have mistaken for a goddess if they had been anywhere unearthly. Now that he noticed actually, all the waitresses here were pretty─ "Hot".

Dean shifted carefully in his seat after realizing what had slipped and got an agitated look from Sam, or one of his famous bitch faces as he called it. Lucky for him though she didn't seem to acknowledge anything the two were saying or doing. Either that or he had whispered it so low she didn't hear.

"Hey Angie, the boss wants to see you afterwards."

Dean glanced around again, this time to look at the staff. Just as he thought.

Where was the signature old lady waitress whose story of her career here could be traced back to the fabulous 50's? He didn't see her. As a matter of fact, the oldest girl working there couldn't have been any older than him. What was up with that?

Dean immediately turned back around and was unable to help but notice that the expression on her face that she was so deemed on trying to hide was one of torment, fear and possibly even disgust. Whatever it was that caused it, the girl clearly wasn't happy. The look between the two was even more complex, almost protective in a way, but he couldn't quite put it into words. Even the way her friend softly held her fingertips on the other girls elbow, as if to comfort her. It was certainly…different.

She bit her top lip and hid back a scowl, but loosened up and replied back to her in a whisper. "Sure. I'll be right there."

With that her friend nodded lightly and left, her head still down, but not without a pause before she released her grasp. Isabelle then looked back at the brothers and informed them that their orders would be a few minutes. Both simply nodded and Dean watched as she disappeared into the back.

The next twenty minutes or so went by pretty quickly, as the brothers continued to size up their case and figure out what the connection was with what little records they were able to get their hands on. To say they were left with little to go on was putting it mildly, but it was the only thing they had to work with, so they tried their best to fill in the gaps themselves.

When their waitress came back with their food, her friend brushed by again on her way to her own table and whispered to her, asking her simply what she said.

She simply whispered back, a touch of abhorrence in her voice and fury buried just beneath.

"Sinehia ta idia skata leo se afton ton malaka." She tried to hide another scowl, but even the most bottled up of people can only hide their rage so much. Dean knew that lesson all too well.

Now he was no expert at Greek, hell he barely knew freakin' Spanish, but he knew well enough from picking up on them that 'maláka' was an insult, like calling someone a dick or an asshole. He knew when defenses were built and offenses were thrown, and hers held venom in their wake.

Dean was just about to ask her if everything was alright, but before he could get the chance her anger quickly faded and her friend sheepishly nodded her head and walked away. The conversation looked to have been dropped, and that was the end of that.

She quickly straightened up and asked the brothers in a simple tone if everything was okay, her gentle attitude resurfacing for them as if nothing had just happened. Service with a smile I guess, Dean couldn't help but chant in his head. They replied yes and thank you, and she nodded in approval, walking off to service another table.

Dean then looked over at Sam for a translation, knowing that his brain held more about the Greek language than he even cared to, but Sam simply shook his head lightly and said that it wasn't any of their business. Dean frowned, knowing that it was surely on his mind as well, but knew that they were also already on a case and moved on to studying the food on his plate instead.

He recognized maybe half the items on it, thankfully, but when it came to what the hell the red and white meat was, he had to ask Sam since Dean assumed that it was some sort of foreign spam from a can. Something he sure as heck wasn't willing to eat.

"Sam what the hell is this?"

Sam merely chuckled as Dean picked at it with his fork like a child, and explained it as blood and pork sausage. A heart attack waiting to happen.

Dean pursed his lips as he recalled the day he actually had experienced his first heart attack, his face screwing into a mix of a frown and a scowl, and decided to save the mystery meat for last if he even dared touch it. He just went on eating his eggs, bacon, sausage links and toast. In the end, the bloody meat stayed on the plate and he surprisingly found himself picking at Sam's fruit bowl instead.

Sam didn't complain, hell he didn't even seem to acknowledge it, and looked the other way at their case notes as his brother picked away at the pineapple, melon, strawberries, oranges and grapes that slowly found themselves disappearing. Just more vitamins getting into his diet, Sam thought, miraculously.

When they were just about finished, their waitress returned to refill their coffee and asked if they needed anything else. Sam simply asked for the check. She softly nodded and turned to head back, but then with a quick glance noticed the notes in his hand and stopped abruptly. She stared, expression dazed but eyes focused as if he held in his hands the darkest secret of the town. She tensed, posture stiff and almost cautious. It was a defense on her part, as if she was waiting for something to attack.

Sam noticed her expression, so calculated and sharp, and took this opportunity to try and ask her some questions about the Manner house, assuming she knew anything. She beat him to it however.

"You here investigating the Manner House? Suits in a diner at ten thirty in the morning can only mean one thing around here. Especially in this town. If I were you I'd stay away from that place."

It wasn't a threat, more a concern, backed up with a hint of insistence. She was scared, not deathly, but certainly enough to warn them. Another defense trait the girl held it would seem.

It was Sam who finally decided to answer after another moment of heavy silence.

"As a matter of fact we were, investigating I mean. We were told that there had been three deaths there and," Sam took in her look, carefully. She looked strangely hesitant, but behind that was a look of wanting to discuss it freely and without fear. To Sam, it was almost like she was hoping for someone to actually ignore the firm advice of everyone in the town and actually do something about whatever was plaguing it. Anyone else was a fool to try, but they were hunters, and thus were exactly what the townspeople here needed. If there was anything supernatural at bay here, they were their best bet in getting it out.

"I was wondering if you could tell me more about it."

She was uncertain at first, not really sure the reason that feds had to be investigating a supposed haunted house. There were a lot of crazies in the world, she knew that, and finally asked if she could see some ID before she said anything. If they were legit, she'd need to make sure first. This town had a lot of secrets, and most of them liked to stay out of the limelight.

Sam and Dean quickly produced their fake FBI badges and she took both in each hand, etching the names into her brain. Agent Tyler and Agent Perry. Isn't that the name of an actor? Her eyebrow arched slightly as if questioning if they were in fact the real deal. She gave them both a sharp look, hoping to see if they in any way fidgeted, blinked or gave themselves away, but both were sitting straight and unmoved in the booths, their hands folded on the table and postures serious. They literally screamed the 'anything but playing games' type.

She gave it another moment, before figuring that it was good enough for her.

She snapped the identifications closed simultaneously and handed them back to them, the brothers pocketing them quickly as she pocketed her own hands in her apron, starting her story on the history of the house. According to her, it was the only house still left standing on that dirt road and the only thing she knew about it now was that the place had been abandoned for some time, until the new family moved in recently and the deaths started up. Nothing the brothers didn't already know. What surprised them however was the words she used as she went into more treacherous detail. She didn't describe the losses as simple deaths, her opinion, not the listed facts, but as something else entirely different. She didn't believe the news of "a simple travesty" as they had been told. She thought it something strange, unworldly, even evil. She thought it the work of the damned. Her opinion was simply─.

"Murders?" Sam asked, surprised. One glance at Dean and they both knew what the other thought.

"The coroner's office labeled them as accidents." Dean corrected, needing absolute confirmation before they pressed on further. The case already screamed weird, if the papers had anything to say about it, however little. If they could get more to go on though then it would become top priority. It was more than clear that the town wanted things to stay under wraps, but this was their job. If something was meant to be dead, it had to stay dead.

She just stood there a moment, still and straight, her eyes traveling between the two as if to test their reaction at her claim.

It made them feel a little uncomfortable, but the girl had every reason to doubt them being real feds or even capable of the job, and it showed. She simply huffed a breath and relaxed a bit, in turn assuring them, and gently settled her hands to rest on her hips. She figured that if they were here willing to help, and they looked more than capable, then why not just help them out and take care of the situation altogether. They needed this curse gone, and the sooner it lifted the better.

"Sure. Accidents. What else could it be? It's not like mutilations don't happen all the time right?" She smiled softly, trying to lighten the mood and got small smiles from them in return though obviously fake. She was trying so hard to convince herself, they saw that, but even they knew she wasn't fooled. She didn't look the type to be fooled, at least not easily.

She sighed and scratched at her forehead a brief second, the stress of everything of their town weighing heavily on her mind. A small town like theirs always preferred to hide its secrets, strange or not.

"Right." Sam said just a moment after, trying to give back his own reassurance. "No you're right, uh…this isn't the sort of normal everyday thing I suppose but, we're here to figure it out and hopefully do something about it."

He noticed her smile relax a bit and grow just a bit wider, her silence enough to tell him that she believed him, and that was all Sam needed to gain her trust just a little bit more. That didn't mean that he didn't still see her defenses around her, and how her need to be cautious was still quite visible in her demeanor. This girl didn't play games, much like them, only difference being that they had actually been playing the game on both sides most of their lives. They assumed, that she just never had to take on such a lifestyle as they did. Her life was normal. Theirs was not.

"You said the place was abandoned. We found no records of that." Dean corrected her again, looking to dig more. The next look on her face said plenty, and Dean almost smiled at the obviousness. This town really didn't like to share much, did it. "We're not going to are we?"

"No." She smiled gently. "The house was still under the ownership of the Carter family at the time. They had built it back in the 20's after the war but, after the death of Jacob Carter's wife and daughter he just…" Another sigh, another daze, another pause. Dean would have almost thought, just by the serenity on her face and the calm of her eyes that she may have not just been recalling, but also praying. Silently praying for the two souls she had just spoken of.

He couldn't quite figure out why, wasn't even sure why he even cared, but there was just something about her. This girl was definitely not your average person, and not your average light. She seemed more connected, more in tune, more thoughtful and considerate of all things. It was almost a little compulsive, but then again, being a hunter also included its similar behaviors. Cautious. Calculating. Attentive. On everything. That wasn't it though. It was just, something. Then it hit him, square in the chest.

He wasn't studying her. At least not her physical self. It was her soul he was drawn to, his recollection of the souls he tortured in Hell nothing like the one he could see in her, figuratively of course. Hers was pure, untainted and untarnished, nothing like theirs or of the demons that had long since lost theirs. Even his, scarred and torn as it was, felt a little unease around her. He felt like it wanted to reach out almost, to be near it, as if her soul could help to heal his. It almost made him feel physically sick in resentment, and envy. With those thoughts alone, he felt himself recoiling.

Her voice quickly shook him back out of his Hellhole. Sam didn't even seem to notice, or was maybe just trying to ignore it for Dean's sake.

"He never returned to the property and the place kinda just fell apart. It was still under his name until another family moved in like 40 years later. The Shelton's. They moved out like 10 years ago and it's been owned by the Manner's ever since. Up until a couple of days ago of course."

"Is there anything else you can tell us about it?" Sam asked, hoping for a little more. If the local library didn't have record of the place being empty for so long then it was pretty safe to say the locals knew more than they could get their hands on.

"Well," She tilts her head and considers, her words slowly trailing of her tongue. "There are rumors."

"What kind of rumors?" Dean asked quickly, his attention as focused on her story as ever.

She paused right there, thinking it over and contemplating whether she should really say this or not and continue. The silence was almost deafening, the clattering of utensils and shuffles of plates and movement of the people in the restaurant drowning out everything else. Sam and Dean just waited, the taller of the two looking patient and unaffected while Dean could feel the blood in his ears pumping hard and rushing fast. Her hesitance was making him nervous, almost anxious, but this was part of the job. Playing your cards right always got you through it though. He just had to be patient.

She bit down lightly on the inside of her cheek before finally responding.

"Some say that the house is haunted. Not by a ghost but," She pauses again, wondering if she should actually say what it was she had heard. The words left her tongue before she could even stop it. "By a demon."

A pause.

"A demon?" Dean's face contorted almost to a 'are you sure' expression and she couldn't help but notice. If anything she was expecting more of an expression like 'yeah right' or 'you're lying'. She wouldn't be lying if she said that this raised a red flag.

"Yeah…I know that sort of stuff doesn't exist but they say that when the house was abandoned that rituals were performed there. Satanic stuff. It's never been proven but some of the locals talk, and say that the house is evil. It's why no one goes near it."

Again, another warning, another keep out sign. They got it. Stay as far away as you can from that house.

Dean and Sam just glanced a look at each other and then quickly back at her. She readjusted her posture at the uncomfortable sensation of even speaking about the damned and found her left hand squeezing into her right elbow, her other hand scratching at the back of her neck.

"I don't personally believe it but, I'm not willing to take my chances."

She chuckles as her right index finger finds its way around a silver chain hanging from her neck, sliding back and forth. It's at that moment that Dean notices her necklace, the pendent in the shape of an angel hanging on the end.

He almost felt like laughing quietly.

"But you believe in angels." He said, his voice gentle and not the least bit joking.

She looks down to see what he is staring at and smiles softly, before looking back at him with all sincerity. "I'd like to think they exist."

Dean smiled just as softly at that, considering he had one on his shoulder. He didn't even realize it when his hand had found itself placed over the handprint scar on his arm. Even if it was just raw raised flesh against the rest of his flawless skin, it still brought him a small comfort to know that it was there. It was as if it was the ultimate proof in showing him that he truly was out of that God awful place, and it was all he needed to feel rest assured. It made him feel oddly safe.

Sam thanked her and she nods back a no problem, but stops her right quick before she can walk away, asking her one more question. If what he thought was true, maybe they could reduce their search for this ghost or demon or whatever just a little bit more. It was the closest they had gotten.

"By the way, you said the original owner, Jacob Carter's wife and daughter died. Do you know how? We didn't find anything about them in the town census."

She ponders for only just a moment before giving him her response.

"They caught tuberculosis, one of the first in the town actually. Took them both pretty quick from what I heard. Transferred them to some hospital in Saranac Lake. New York I think. They died there."

"Thanks again."

She nods her head, quickly coming back with their receipt and leaves to attend another table.

"That chicks a bigger encyclopedia than the God damn library here." Dean scoffed, both impression and slight irritation in his voice by the fact that it had taken so long for them to get somewhere after days of virtually nothing.

He turns back to Sam, who already has the wheels in his mind turning and mentally noting what they need to finish the case.

"Okay then. So, what, we're not actually dealing with a ghost but a demon that some idiot decided to summon?"

"Looks that way." Sam pondered.

"Awesome." Dean took another sip of his coffee and placed the cup down on the table as Sam left the tip and got up to pay at the counter. He stood up and gathered all the materials that were practically spread across the table, and after one quick glance at making sure that he didn't miss anything, he decided to pick up his untouched glass of water and downed half of it. He had already eaten more than half his share of fruit, he figured a little water wouldn't be bad for his diet either.

Shortly after, the brothers found themselves camped outside the white and brown house, their car parked across the street and within sight. The place was surrounded by tall pines and brush, the first floor almost completely invisible from the outside, the second and third floors peaking just over it. The Victorian inspired construction had lost its beauty and was now hanging with the feeling of dread and despair. The place reminded Dean of the Amityville house with its two large windows visible in the front and the thought of that movie almost encouraged him to not take a step within the place. Almost. The long driveway was sealed by an iron gate in the front but since the last owners had left in a hurry they hadn't even bothered to lock it.

They had been sitting out there for hours and pretty soon the sun was going to set, the gray darkness already settling in. As Sam continued to scan through their notes Dean kept his eyes on the house, not so much as letting his glance go until Sam got his attention.

"So, we got three families on the property, no one dying on it until three weeks ago." Sam noted. "All the same way."

"With their eyes and tongues ripped out." Dean added.

"And then there's the lungs, the heart and every other vital organ you could possibly need." Sam continued as he looked through the autopsy photos that the local office provided.

"Gross." Dean noted as he caught a glimpse of a photo of their first victims insides. "You think they'd learn after the first time."

"Well no one's occupying the house anymore so now's a perfect time to check it out." Sam gave his brother a look and even though the place gave him the creeps Dean sucked it up and agreed.

They both peeled themselves from the front seat and started digging through the trunk for salt rounds, silver bullets, holy water and anything else they might need. The last item they picked up was Ruby's knife and Sam sheathed it on his belt. After closing up they slowly made their way up to the house, and to say that the feeling they got the moment they walked past those gates was less than appealing. The place literally reeked of evil and the shivers going down their spines and crawling up their skin was definite proof of that. As they made their way to the front door the feeling only got stronger, but Dean picked up on something else as Sam picked at the lock and opened the door.

Decay.

They knew that smell all too well and immediately raised their guns as they slowly made their way into the house. The owners hadn't even bothered to take everything. Furniture and boxes of belongings still lay on the floor and even pictures and family portraits had remained on the wall. Sam headed over to the kitchen where the smell seemed to be getting stronger. Dean walked through the living and dining areas and noticed a door near the back of the house, right across from the kitchen. He whispered to Sam and noticed where Dean was looking.

The door was situated right in the middle of the back wall of the laundry room and other than it's peeling white paint and brass knob the door had also been completely nailed shut. Several two by fours had been clamped into it, some even over others and Dean and Sam knew that the previous owners didn't want someone going in.

Or maybe, didn't want something coming -out-.

They would have wanted to listen to the warning but the putrid smell was growing stronger and Dean and Sam knew that they were bound to find the source behind that door.

With a bit of hesitation the brothers began to carefully remove the beams until it was free of any obstruction. Dean wasn't even two inches away from the knob when it clicked and turned on its own, opening the door slowly for them. If that didn't ring any alarms in their heads the crippling smell of rot that filled their lungs sure did. They both placed their arms over their mouths but swallowed hard and picked up their guns and flashlights, carefully making their way down the rickety wooden stairs to the basement. The large bricked room felt damp and musty, the sounds of leaky pipes and rodents running around becoming evident almost instantly.

They slowly made their ways around, careful not to be caught off guard. After several moments of finding nothing Sam noticed a hallway that snaked its way through the back of the room and carefully headed to it. It took only a moment for Dean to notice that Sam had disappeared and called out to him, quickly making his way around the room and found him making his way down the thin corridor. Dean soon followed and noticed that the more they went down the stronger the smell was becoming. They were expecting to run across a rotting corpse any second now and as they made a left turn on the end of the hallway, they noticed someone's leg peaking out from the wall and sprawled out on the floor.

They tried to see more but the shadows were covering much of the walls and it was then that Sam noticed that the shadow…was actually moving.

He also picked up on another sound.

Chewing.

Something was down here and feeding on the fleshy remains of the homes latest victim. Sam and Dean froze as they noticed the black mass getting up and with one slow turn, stared back at them, it's red eyes caused the hairs on the back of their necks to rise. This was definitely not a ghost and definitely not a demon. The wispy smoke that this thing was surrounded by began to spread and before it could get a step closer Dean and Sam started to shoot and the entity screamed an ear splitting screech, its eyes bulging in anger and instantly disappeared into the cracks of the brick and concrete. All that was left was a black liquid substance slowly dripping down the walls which they recognized immediately as ectoplasm.

Well that was a clue.

After realizing that the thing was gone they looked back down to see a man sitting on the dirt floor against the back wall, his eyes and tongue already ripped out of his sockets and mouth and half his heart hanging by a single artery from his chest. The look on his face told them that he had been alive when the thing started eating him, his mouth contorted in the expression of someone screaming in terror. To say that the scene was beyond stomach wrenching was putting it nicely.

"I thought you said everybody left." Dean whispered as he took in the sight.

"I guess not." Sam softly replied, the pure look of horror on their latest victim forever etched in his mind.

To Be Continued…

Authors End Notes: * Sinehia ta idia skata leo se afton ton malaka* translates to "The same shit I'm always telling that asshole"