Starstruck II: Saruman's Curse

Downtown Doldrums (20s/Ghost AU)

1926. Dean had just come home from a big case. Him and his team, Steve, Jimmy K., and Charlie, just busted a group of bootleggers who had a still at the old Thomas Farm. It was a case they'd been working on for a while. The men had given chase and Dean was exhausted from pursuing them through the fields. He poured himself a glass of whiskey and sat down on the couch.

"Dammit!" he said as he sunk into the couch, his whiskey sloshing out onto his shirt. He usually remembered to sit on the right side of the couch, because the left side was missing its springs. Dean's brother, Sam, had tried to convince him to get rid of the old couch when Dean was moving into this apartment, but it was hard getting rid of the couch that belonged to their late parents.

Dean got up to turn on the radio and then sat down on the right side of the couch. He thought about the new case he'd been given before he left the office that night. It was a murder that took place not too far from where he lived. They weren't sure who the culprit was yet, they told him, but as soon as Dean looked at the crime scene photos, he knew exactly who it was.

The victim was a man who looked to be about in his twenties, around the same age as Dean. He had dark hair and striking blue eyes. But the rest of him was a massacre. He was covered in stab wounds and he had the letter "A" carved into his chest.

The exact same modus operandi as the person who killed Mary and John Winchester all those years ago.

That case had gone cold years ago. But now, it was finally resurfacing.

The phone rang, startling Dean out of his thoughts. He set his empty glass on the coffee table and got up.

"Hello?" he answered.

"I heard about the case," it was Sam. "Charlie told me. How are you doing?"

"Fine. I'm starting on it tomorrow. I'm going over to the crime scene in the morning," he said.

"Okay, well, keep me posted. I called to tell you that I'm having a dinner party this weekend. Ezri and I are having a few friends over. Will you be able to make it?" asked Sam.

"Yeah, I'll be there," said Dean. He hung up. Sam and Ezri had just gotten married and they lived in a huge house. Of course they'd be able to afford that in the city of Chicago since Sam was a bigtime lawyer and Ezri was a successful painter. Dean wasn't jealous or anything, but he would sometimes ponder what it would be like to live like that.

The next day, Dean went to the crime scene bright and early. It was in the suite on the top floor of the building. Dean went under the police tape blocking to door and stepped inside. The body was gone but the blood still painted the walls and floor.

Dean got right to work. He knew exactly what he was looking for. The last time the killer struck, he left a note somewhere in the house. It wasn't found until years later. Dean began his search in the study, then moved to the bedroom, kitchen and bathroom. He ended up back in the study, having come up with nothing. He sat in the desk chair and rubbed a hand down his face.

"Check the ceiling," said a voice from behind him. Dean jumped out of the chair and whipped around. The first thing he noticed was the vibrant blue eyes and dark hair. It was the victim from the crime scene photos.

The man narrowed his eyes. "Can you see me?" he asked.

"Y-you're supposed to be dead," Dean gasped.

"Obviously," he said, rolling his eyes. "And I am. But for some reason, I'm still here."

"Your name is Castiel Novak, correct?"