ANYWHERE I LAY MY HEAD

CHAPTER I: HOUSE WHERE NOBODY LIVES

In which there's music and a portentous hotel.

It took Castiel a while to earn his shotgun privileges. He didn't get the loudly outspoken and reinforced rule of 'Driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his piehole'. Castiel complained that he didn't like the Rolling Stones or the Scorpions because he had heard their songs one too many times, and that was pretty high on Dean's death list.

"But you've heard these songs like a gazillion times, why wait to bitch about it now? You've been listening to this for years," Dean wondered and switched to Led Zeppelin. You just couldn't go wrong with Led Zeppelin.

"It was different before. I can't tune it out like I used to," Castiel sniffled from the backseat. He was coming out of his first cold ever, and had sniffled uncontrollably for two weeks. It was getting on everyone's nerves.

"Is it another angel whammy thing you've lost? Must've been nice to just shut off whatever noise you hate. Would make sleeping in motels a helluva lot easier. What kind of sounds did you leave on then? Obviously not the Stones, but hey."

"I used to listen to the sounds I liked. Bird song, heart beats, wind and voices…"

"Whoa, must've been awesome to turn off annoying people. I wish I could do that, it would make road trips with Sammy so incredibly much better. Hold on, you listened to heartbeats?"

"Yes, I liked it. It made me feel safe. It says so much about a person. I miss that now. I can sit here in the backseat, this close to you, and still not hear you."

"Uh, okay," said Dean and white-knuckled the steering wheel. He took a right turn off the highway to Baltimore. "So, you'd know we where were from the sounds of our heartbeats, huh?"

"Yes. Sam's heart is both slower and has a lower sound, and it changes takes time to speed up when he exerts himself. Yours is faster, but stronger. Changes the rhythm faster, too. I could pick you out in a crowd just by listening to your heart." Castiel blushed and borrowed his chin down in his scarf. "Sometimes it was so loud I could hardly focus on anything else when you were around. I miss that. In some ways the world is a lot louder now that I'm human, but now sometimes it will get so quiet that I'm scared by it."

"Wow, that's some radical honesty right there. Have you and Sam had the talk about honesty and little white lies to cover your butt?" Dean saw Castiel nod in the rear mirror. "Good, 'cause it's totally okay to do that sometimes. Do you like this music, or should I turn it off?" Castiel nodded again and leaned against the car window. The suburbs of Baltimore were tucked into a heavy curtain of gray rain and Led Zeppelin's Babe I'm Gonna Leave You.

"Okay, we're there soon. Do you remember the plan?"

"Yes, Dean."

"Let's go over it again. Better safe than sorry. We check in to the hotel slash creepy ex-asylum for the criminally insane, I locate this ghost and gank it, we stay the night, take it easy for a day and then we go to Sam in Lexington. Tell me again, what's your part of the plan?"

"I'm going to stay in the room inside of a salt line until your say-so," Castiel grumbled.

"Damned straight you will. Get some sleep. Best medicine for the common cold. This case will be easy though, probably over in a couple of hours. Loony bins can be riddled with ghosts, and here we have just one. Piece of cake if you ask me."

...

The asylum, now hotel, was a big official looking building. The architect had made no efforts in making the house look even slightly welcoming, although someone had tried to paint it in a desperately friendly yellow color. The paint didn't fool anyone. Though the inside of the building no doubt had been changed for the massively better, the outside still told that it was a place where miserable people came to become even more miserable and then die. It was a house that imposed itself on people's souls. Dean ignored it — he had fought houses before and won — but he could have sworn that he saw Castiel shrink a couple of inches. Dean grabbed his shoulder and dragged both man and their bags inside.

"Hello-how-may-I-help-you," twittered the platinum blonde woman in reception. She fired off a predatory smile at them both, which it made Castiel shrink an inch more. He had never gotten the hang of casual flirting. No, scratch that, he had never gotten the hang of flirting. Dean knew he'd have to have a talk about it some day soon.

"A room please. Two beds, two nights. You got any vacant?" Dean smirked. He could handle predatory blondes. He was one himself, after all.

"Sure, I can fix you up. You want the newly weds suite or one of our regular two bed rooms?" The words were round in her mouth, the R's forgotten in a distinct New Jersey accent.

"Neither Dean or I are newly married. Why would we want a suite for newly weds?" Castiel asked gravely.

"Well, it's our nicest room and there's a complimentary bottle of champagne."

"Sold," said Dean.

...

The newly weds suite had been the office of the warden. It had an iron stove, a queen-sized bed, big windows and a small balcony overlooking the asylum grounds and the forest. The microscopic bathroom was in green marble and incorporated the smallest bathtub Dean had ever seen.

"Lady, are you sure we only have to pay thirty bucks for this room and a bottle of champagne? I mean, this is really nice."

"Sure, honey. It's off-season. Even though we're kind of close to the city nobody ever comes out here in the winter. There are only you guys, a Dutch couple down the hall, and the professor, of course. It's a pity to have this room empty, don't you think? It's pretty, isn't it? We had it renovated the year before last, and I got to pick out the décor."

"It is very white," Castiel sniffled. "And cold."

"Yeah, sorry, we haven't gotten the oil pan going yet. They'll fix it in a couple of days they said. If you want to you can make a fire in the fireplace. Breakfast is served between six and nine," the platinum blonde woman informed them and winked almost comically at Dean. "Well now, nighty-night."

"Good night," Castiel told her solemnly and shut the door behind her. "Strange woman. She could not say 'R'."

"That's called having an accent. I bet my ass she's from New Jersey. And take your cap and coat off, you can't have that on inside."

"But Dean, it's cold. Just because we're inside doesn't mean we have to freeze."

"I'll fix the salt lines and then get a fire going. We'll be warm in no time. Take the coat off and you can go to bed. Okay?"

Dean filled the iron stove with logs, newspapers and white firelighter cubes he found in a drawer. The firelighters consequently put the flames out, but once Dean had poked them to the side, he got the fire started quickly. When he turned to say something triumphantly about it to Castiel, he saw that the ex-angel had gathered all the blankets and built a nest out of them on the bed. His feet were conspiciously sticking out from it.

"Hey, I'm going to do some ghost-hunting. Keep an eye on the fire, we don't want to burn the place down. I'll be back in a while, okay?"

"Okay, Dean," mumbled the angel from under the pile of blankets. Dean could hear he was seconds away from sleep. When it came to naps Castiel had the self-control of a two-year-old. It was a good quality to have. Dean would have given his left kidney to cuddle up with him on the bed right then and there, but knew better than to do it. Job first, guilty pleasures later. He shook his head.

"Okay."

(First part out of five. It's going to be slow-building fic with some actual plot, so hang in there! Titles after songs by Tom Waits. I hope you like it!)