Disclaimer: I don't own a single damn thing but the idea of the OC. I definitely do not hold rights to Supernatural.
This is Rated M for a reason, folks! It may be slow to start but it'll pick up.
Dean opened his eyes. He was here again. Where ever here was.
His eyelids felt heavy as he observed the scene before him; a woman, cleaning her kitchen. Such a simple task yet he couldn't help but watch it with intensity, as if determined to memorize each movement.
He should have been analyzing his surroundings, finding out who's the wizard behind the curtain, and making a plan. Thinking and screaming his way out of this. Yet her technique was so hypnotizing he couldn't manage a thought. Her energy was so focused and tranquil it washed over him til he was floating away with it, unable to say a word.
Simply a woman cleaning her kitchen.
First the dishes, followed by the counter tops, the stove top, the exterior of the refrigerator, the floors, the window.. She rearranged the potted herbs on the counter as an extra measure, gently removing the dead leaves as she went.
Her previous meditative state began to dissolve as her thoughts began to stir into a rather -judging by the sudden scowl- upsetting mess. Dean mirrored this scowl before fading out, leaving the quite unaware woman alone with her thoughts, rubbing her arms for warmth against the sudden frigid breeze..
It felt like eternity before Dean managed to open his eyes again. This time he had a chance to observe his surroundings. A one bedroom apartment, small, cozy, clean. No signs of sulphur, no hex bags, nothing weird.
From the look of her apartment, this woman was some kind of new age hippie and there were parts of her home full of smells that perplexed Dean and drove his senses wild like never before.
Which was saying something, considering he was dead.
Dean was a ghost. He couldn't remember how he died, saying no to a reaper, or how in the hell he got to this womans home.
He tried focusing all his energy on knocking over a vase but could do nothing but fly right through it. Whatever had happened to him must have been recent, he concluded. I barely have enough ghost juice to stay in a room longer than two minutes.
He turned around and jumped when he realized he wasn't alone in the room. Laughing at himself, he took a step closer to this woman sitting cross legged on the floor. She's meditating, he realized. Great, Im stuck with a hippie freak. But as he took another step towards her his body was wracked with a huge involuntary shudder that made his eyes roll back in his head. He jumped back in shock, his body pulsating slightly. After a moment he reached out his hand slowly, cringing as it came into contact with whatever the hell kind of forcefield was emanating from this woman. The longer he held out his hand the more his body seemed to vibrate. He pulled back, the sensation too much to handle, backing up just a touch too fast effectively knocking over the vase and smashing it into pieces.
The womans shocked scream was the last thing he heard before fading out.
