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It's a Terrible Afterlife

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If Castiel is honest, he loves his new housemate. Sam is just the right type of person Castiel wants to inhabit his space. Kind, polite, smart. Sam has a near endless supply of books to flip through, and he is just the right side of rational that he ignores the occasional door left open or light flicker. It is an old house, after all. Stairs creak, floorboards squeak, there are strange drafts and other odd little quirks that make it unique. Castiel loves his home, and he is glad Sam seems to appreciate it as well. Castiel would like to thank him, but that is in clear violation of the Rules he has set for himself.

 

Rule #1: Don’t interact with the living.

 

Rules are important. They provide structure. They keep him safe. That is why, the day Castiel’s precious Rules are broken, he takes a stand.

 

It starts with a clanging, right in the middle of Castiel’s night reading session. He startles, flashing to Sam’s room to check that yes - the man is still asleep. Castiel floats down to the kitchen, the source of the clanging clear by the assortment of pots strewn across the tiled floor. Castiel will never admit to the mouth on his transparent form falling open, it must have been a trick of the light. What is not, however, is the bright form floating in front of him, digging through Sam’s cabinets.

 

“What’s a guy gotta do to get some grub around here?” A deep voice, a man then. Castiel glares with as much force as his ghostly form can muster.

 

“What are you doing?” He says coldly, adding a little push of wind for emphasis. Castiel is not, in fact, dramatic. He just happens to know how to get his point across. The other ghost stills, and his form turns to face Castiel, who can’t see much because the guy is too busy glowing. Which, Castiel notes, he has no business doing.

 

“What? I’m not… alone?” Came the almost whispering voice. Castiel’s glare doesn’t let up, he is not so easily swayed (Despite the sudden tug where his chest used to be). Then, swear to God, the strange ghost mutilating his kitchen starts to glow brighter . It hurts Castiel’s eyes. Or it would, if he had human eyes.

 

“Tone down your illumination.” Castiel tells him.

 

“Dude. Dude!” The other ghost ignores the order, the kitchen enveloped in a warm glow like daylight.  “That’s awesome!”

 

Castiel rips the other ghost to shreds in his mind. Snuffs this little light out like a candle. Who does he think he is? This is the last thing he’d ever want to invade his home. An insolent pest ! Loud, ludicrous, and lacking any common sense. If Castiel had his way, the newcomer would be gone before the morrow.

 

“Considering your insistence on destroying my kitchen, it is not ‘awesome’”

 

“Did you just finger quote me? Are those your fingers? Oh cool! You almost look like an actual dude instead of a glow-y thing."

 

He appears to be referring to himself, Castiel figures out. It seems like he should not expect much eloquence from this acquaintance.

 

“It comes with time and practice.” Castiel states, voice still as cold as it had been at the start. The other ghost does not seem to be fazed.

 

“Well, nice to meet you old man, I’m Dean.”

 

Dean . It fits. Arrogant. Infuriating. Castiel’s worst nightmare.

 

“I am technically thirty-two at the time of death.” He defends.

 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name then, Casper?”

 

Castiel blinks at that, narrowing his faded blue eyes in confusion. Was that a guess? No, Dean said it like a joke, emphasized and brimming with pride. A reference that was lost somewhere in the air between them. Dean’s glow recedes a little in the silence, clearly disappointed at Castiel’s lack of reaction. Left waiting for the answer to his question to save the interaction.  Expecting it even. Castiel refused to give him any of the satisfaction.

 

“No.”

 

“What?”

 

He seemed scandalized. Good, Castiel does not want him to win any of this conversation. Not that he thinks Dean realizes the battle of wills they’re in. For such a bright soul, he is exceedingly dim.

 

“Do not produce anymore noise, you’ll wake up Sam. And stop making a mess.”

 

“Good! I’ve been tryin’ to get through to that kid for months!”

 

Castiel flashes, wind whipping around him like a mini tornado. This fool has tested his patience for far too long.

 

“Do you have a deathwish?” Castiel’s voice has gone beyond ice, into sharp as knives territory. Though the stormy timbre of his voice made it hard to hear the change. He always sounded and looked somewhat pissed off, but right now he meant it .

 

Dean chuckles, glow pulsing in delight. Castiel - shocked out of his rage - stares blankly until he stops. There is a long, awkward pause where neither of them move or make a sound. Until Dean breaks it with -

 

“That was a joke, right?”

Castiel’s essence swirls and darts forward, gripping onto this - this insolent little shit .

 

“You listen to me, I will not have the exorcists on my doorstep because you decided it would be ‘fun’ to announce your presence. I don’t even know how you came to be here, in My House. But you will respect my rules. ”

 

Dean pats - goddamn pats - where Castiel’s shoulder is. Sending a strange feeling like shock-wave through the angry ghost's system.

 

“‘S okay Casper, Sammy won’t turn us in.” He sounds like he’s trying to be comforting.

 

Castiel socks him in the face. Well, he tries too. As it is, his hand just passes through, sending more shivers up and down his form. And not unwelcome shivers, either. The pleasurable tingling last only a moment, and then Castiel is pulling away and retreating - not running away -  to the attic.