~*****~

The light is the first thing that wakes me up. It lulls me into a dazed, sort of sleepy comfort. Then the smell hits me. I snap upwards, my peer through my bleary eyes as Dean holds Mary on his chest, his gaze fixated on the files propped up on the steering wheel. "What are you doing?" I ask sleepily.

"What's is look like?" Dean questions as he presses a kiss to Mary's head.

"Looking for a job?" I murmur.

"Yahtzee." Dean retorts.

"Is something wrong with your nose?" I question irritably as Sam sits up in the back, his nose wrinkling at the smell, too.

"No?"

"You sure? Smell the baby." I say.

Dean hums in response peers down at his daughter and takes a whiff. His head recoils like a rubber band and his eyes blink rapidly. "Oh, damn--" He manages before I scoop the infant from his arms.

She gurgles and starts tugging at her feet when I lay her across the seat. Sam and Dean are already rolling down their windows at the stench. "We just finished a job like two hours ago," Sam mentions.

"Adrenaline' still pumping, I guess." Dean comments, his gaze remaining on the files. "So, what do you think... Cedar Rapids, Tulsa, or Chi-Town?"

Sam grunts. "I am all for working. I really am." Sam expresses. "But you got us chasing cases nonstop for like a month now. We need sleep."

"Ah, we can sleep when we're dead." Dean comments. He glances at Mary and grins. "'Cept you, you sleep."

Mary gurgles and returns to tugging at her feet.

"You're exhausted, Dean." I comment after tossing Mary's diaper out the window.

"I'm good--"

"No, you're not. You're running on fumes, and you can't run forever." I mention.

"And what am I running from?" Dean asks.

I purse my lips and sigh through my nose. "From what you told us." Dean goes silent. "Or are we pretending that never happened?"

Dean decides not the pick the fight. "Stratton, Nebraska-- Farm town. A man gets hacked to death in a locked room inside a locked house. No signs of forced entry." Dean states.

"Sounds like a ghost." Sam comments.

"Yes, it does." Dean grins. Sam yawns and lays back down.

Dean takes the baby once she's in a fresh onesie and wiped down with baby wipes, and resettles her on his chest. I yawn lightly before laying back down, my head propped on his thigh.

~*****~

For once, I'm glad I got a baby carrier. I looked stupid as hell wearing it with my usual gothic attire, but Mary had all the freedom to kick her legs and flail her arms around as much as she wanted without hitting me in the face. We entered the old home, and began to investigate. "Three bedrooms, two baths, and one homicide. This place is gonna sell like hotcakes." Dean comments as we stroll through the house.

The kitchen is a disgusting shade of yellow. "God, I hate this kitchen," I mention irritably. "No one uses paisley anymore." I pick at the paisley covering above the stove, and grimace again.

"Hey, check this out," Dean hums, tearing my gaze from the ugly walls.

Sam snorts as Dean knocks on the wall. It echoes lightly, indicating an opening behind it. "It's probably a dumbwaiter." Sam comments. "All these old houses had them."

Dean gazes after Sam before speaking. "Know-it-all." He hums.

"What?" Sam retorts.

"What?" Dean shoots back.

"You said..." Sam trails off. Dean raises his brow and shakes his head. "Never mind."

Dean beams down at me as I roll my eyes. "Children." I comment lightly. Mary babbles in response and swings her arms around.

"Well, no bloodstains, fresh coat of paint-- This is a bunch of bubkes." Dean mentions. We go upstairs.

"Needles all over the place," I comment, my hand gesturing to the EMF going crazy.

Dean peers out the window. "We got powerlines."

"Great," Sam sighs as he waves the EMF a little and shoves it back into his pocket. "So, uh..." Sam trails off and opens the door to the closet.

A shudder runs up my back. "I swear to god, I will kick that thing if I hear it giggle." I mention.

"Yeah, no kidding. That's disturbing." Dean comments.

"Think it got left behind?" Sam asks.

"By who?" I retort. "Unless Bill Gibson likes to play with doll heads."

The sound of approaching vehicles echo out. "Uh-oh," Sam says as he peers out the window. A white SUV and a moving van are approaching the house.

"I thought you said this place was still for sale." Dean mentions.

"Apparently, it's not." Sam retorts.

"Come on." I urge. "I'll get to the Impala, you do the talking." I explain hastily as we split up.

Sam and Dean return to the Impala shortly after. "We convinced them to stay in a motel for the night," Sam comments as he scoots into the passenger seat. "We don't have long to wrap this up."

I nod and start fishing for my suit.

~*****~

Mary was fast asleep in the Impala, thankfully, and Sam elected to stay with her while we questioned the old woman who cleaned the Gibson house. "What did the room look like when you found it, Mrs. Curry?" I ask softly.

"I already told the local boys-- there was blood... everywhere." Mrs. Curry says.

"And Mr. Gibson? Where was he?" Dean questions.

Mrs. Curry stares at Dean for a moment. "Everywhere." She says.

"How long have you been cleaning Mr. Gibson's house?" I ask.

Mrs. Curry hummed. "About five years."

"So you knew him pretty well." I state.

"Oh," She shook her head a little. "Not really well. He was real private. Not the easiest man. Not that I blame him."

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"His wife dies in childbirth. Daughter hangs herself in the attic twenty years later. I'd be bitter, too." Mrs. Curry admits. "I think I got some pictures." I glance at Dean curiously before she comes back. "Here." She hands over the pictures of what I presume are the daughter.

"Can we keep these?" I ask.

"Suit yourself," Mrs. Curry shrugged.

"Now, why'd the daughter kill herself?" I ask.

"Oh, I don't know. That was before my time." Mrs. Curry sighs.

"Did you ever notice anything odd in the house when you were cleaning it?" Dean asks.

"Like what?" Mrs. Curry asks.

"You know, like lights going on and off, things not being where you left them." Dean explains.

Mrs. Curry shakes her head, but her eyes trail off, her mind already wracking the thought around. "Well, maybe there was one thing." Mrs. Curry says after a beat of silence.

"What's that?" I ask.

"Sometimes, I thought I heard like a... rustling in the walls." Mrs. Curry says.

"Like a rat?" Dean asks. Mrs. Curry nods. "Must've been some big sons of guns out there, huh?"

Mrs. Curry shrugged. "Wouldn't know. Never saw any."

"Do you happen to know where Mrs. Gibson and her daughter were buried?" I ask.

Mrs. Curry hummed. "They were both cremated."

I offer her a smile. "Well, thank you for your time." I say softly. Mrs. Curry nods and retreats back into her house as Dean and I head for the Impala. "So it probably wasn't the mom of the daughter," I huff. "Whose ghost was it?"

"I don't know." Dean sighs as he gets into the Impala. "But I saw we give that place a real once-over and see."