Disclaimer: Dean isn't mine, Bobby isn't mine, and the plot of this chapter is based fairly tightly on the TV series SUPERNATURAL. Molly Adams is mine, though. If you want her you'll have to DOUBLE DISCLAIM! HAHA!

Sorry, it's late and I'm batshit insane. Carry on, and enjoy!

Chapter One

Leaving the scene of the last death behind, Dean quickly became lost in the winding residential streets of Greenville, CA. After ten minutes of driving, he still hadn't found a main road that could take him to a goddamned motel. He was exhausted from the hunt, broody over letting that teenager die, and he hadn't eaten since noon. It was three a.m. now. So we really can't blame him for hesitating a moment when he heard the scream. The shrill scream so many starlets in horror movies spend hours trying to imitate. The scream that could only accompany one of three things: a rodent sighting, the discovery of a wad of bubblegum in the hair, or a supernatural attack.

Because this was Dean Winchester's life, and we all know what a life that is, he had to pull over on the good chance that it was the latter of the three. And God help that bitch if she wasn't actually in danger right now.

He kicked open the door, and was promptly blasted in the chest with a round of rock salt. It was from across the house, so it didn't seriously hurt him, but damn it hurt. And he wasn't exactly accustomed to being the one shot at.

"Son of a BITCH!"

The screamer pivoted in surprise, but only looked at him a second before she trained her gun back towards the staircase in front of her. Dean could tell she wanted her back to a wall, but the living room yawned in one direction, and that rickety set of stairs in the other. All was silent for the moment, and had Dean not been a hunter, he would have thought this girl just some maniac aiming a shotgun at hallucinations only she could see and hear. But then a newspaper on the coffee table rustled and flipped open behind her. She span, lightning quick, and Dean saw the terror in her eyes. She didn't tremble, but she twitched when he took a step forward, and every muscle in her body was stretched tight. Sweat beaded all over her skin, making her chilly in the cool air from the door Dean'd kicked off its hinges, not to mention the icy presence of the ghost.

After another moment of silence that made the girl's breath hitch to an even more hysterical level, she glanced over her shoulder for only an instant. "Who are you?"

"That doesn't matter right now. Just turn to face me, I've got your back." He cocked his own shotgun unnecessarily to illustrate that he could do more than warn her if he saw the ghost.

She slowly turned, and he could see that she wasn't distrustful, just frozen with shock and terror. Distrust was a luxury she couldn't afford, not when he was human and her only source of help.

"Now, why is she after you?" Dean asked. Lots of civilians wouldn't be able to answer this question easily, but she was clearly . . . something other than a civilian.

"She wasn't. No, I think she's gone. She's not bothering with me. She got what she came for."

"Which was?"

"George."

"George who? She killed him?"

"George as in the owner of this house. Yeah, she killed him. I heard him shout, and I woke up, and I ran to his room, but then she turned on me and sort of . . . pushed me back . . . and by the time she was gone and I could get to George, he was dead, and-"

"Whoa, whoa." Dean stopped her right there, because her words were getting louder and louder and faster and faster, and becoming more sobs than words altogether. "She's gone. I think she's gone. But she might come back, so we should go."

"What do you mean, go? Go where?" The girl asked, eyes wide.

"We'll stay in a motel, and on the way you can tell me what's going on, and tomorrow we'll find this bitch's remains, salt'em, burn'em, and be done with it."

The girl only shook her head. "George already did that. Months ago. Something else is keeping her here."

"Shit. Well, like I said, tell me all about it in the car. It's not exactly safe here."

"And it's safe for me to get into a car with a stranger, and leave the place my parents expect me to be?"

"I'm not some sort of serial killer. But it's up to you whether you come with or not." He turned to leave, knowing she'd follow.

When he was at the door, she hesitantly asked, "can I pack a few things?"

"Do you really want to go up there? We'll come back tomorrow anyway."

"Okay." She slipped on some worn flip-flops at the door and followed him out to the Impala. Being behind him, she couldn't see the WTF look on Dean's face. You know the one. The "who the hell is this chick?" look.

Once they were safely in the Impala and on the road, it was time to find out.