prompt: beginning

She appeared, into thin air, like a specter or some kind of projection, flickering, sparking, then solidifying. Deep, shining eyes, and she was smiling.

Sam lifted his gun in a heartbeat, but didn't fire. Ghosts didn't usually smile at him. "Who are you?"

She didn't answer at first. She gave a breath of a laugh, c***ing her head to the side as if she was examining him. Her dark hair was down to her shoulders, and she started to twirl a piece of it between her fingers, biting her lip. Like she knew him.

"Sammy!" Dean barreled around the corner then, stumbled to a halt and whipped his own weapon up. "Whoa-wha-"

"Dean, wait. Don't shoot her yet...I think..."

"What the h-" Dean jabbed his gun aggressively, "Talk, now, or I fill you full of rock salt."

The woman rolled her eyes then, falling into a relaxed posture, arms crossed. Sam noticed a strange device around her wrist-like a tricked-out watch or something. It had blinking lights, and he could almost see energy pulsing out of it. Not very ghost-like. Then, the woman spoke.

"Alright, Dean," her eyes shifted to him, "Sam. Calm down. This is complicated, but I know you two can handle it."

Dean had not relaxed his aim at all. "Who are you?"

"Martha. Martha Jones."

Sam's gun was already lowering, but his eyebrows furrowed. "Do we...know you?"

Her smile turned bittersweet, as if she had just remembered something wonderful and terrible all at once. As if some memory had just surfaced in her mind, and her eyes grew wistful. She met his gaze.

"Not yet."