Hi!

I momentarily deleted this story and posted it on Wattpad, as it did so weakly in here. But now I've decided to post this as separate chapters, and got an inspiration to type more of my already hand written fanfic to the computer. Maybe you get an update soon! :)

Rated T for violence, language and further themes appearing in this story.

The cover image is edited by me, though in the pic it reads "by WinterFinch". Its my username in Wattpad, and I made this cover specifically for that release :)

(Situated during season 3, before the episode 7, "Fresh Blood")

"Sam!" Dean called out his brother as in a blink of an eye threw a shotgun in the air, over the specter which was hovering before his baby brother threateningly. The weapon all loaded with salt and ready to kick some serious ghost butt.

Sam glanced toward the approaching, flying object and flung himself up from the prone position as quickly as he could after being slammed hard against the wall by their adversary. He reached out his hand and grasped the weapon's handle, loading and firing one salt stuffed ammunition straight into the ghost' chest, it piercing, but also wounding the transparent form as expected. Or so Sam calculated, until the echo of the quick shot had faded and he was still staring at the ghost before himself, it eyeing back at him as hatefully as before. Sam winced. The salt didn't have the usual effect!

The dark cloth ghost just ogled at him with those eyes blazing for anger, from which reflected all that sorrow and disappointment which had caused her to seek vengeance by those murders the brothers had taken upon themselves to redeem. The girl simply stared, her already deceased body made from stubborn thirst for retribution flickering like a TV screen. Until then a horrendous, high pitched scream erupted from her lips, which caused the brothers' blood to freeze, and only after a second or two she dashed toward Sam. Still holding the useless shotgun as a what it seemed very weak protection between himself and the wicked ghost.

And as sudden the attack was, he hadn't had the time to load the weapon for a second try, and was then saved only narrowly by another loud shot coming from the ghost's rear. The girl twirled, or more like flickered around enraged, to face Dean whose shotgun was next thrown to the faraway ground in an instant, before he himself was flung against another rather shaky wooden wall by the specter. This alerted Sam, who witnessed his brother's bad fall.

"Dean!" was his turn to exclaim in worry, frowning, but soon it was his turn also to flit through the air with high speed, hitting another wall at the opposite side of Dean. All air vented out of his lungs as Sam let out a moan of agony, finally dropping to the floor too, his muscles aching.

But neither of them wasted any time for self-pity as their eyes shot up, to eye ceaselessly at the miserable figure standing in middle of the room. And now when he looked, for the first time since the fight against this ghost had lasted Sam noticed something else in her resentful exterior, it as well dripping down those pale cheeks in form of tears. She released a shuddering breath, gust of vapor floating in the air through the parted, white lips.

"Why?" a cold voice asked with the girl's mouth. She sounded agonized. "Why did you do this to me?" the voice continued, the girl now inclining her head as she appeared before Sam. He met her bottomless, empty gaze, peering at him through dirty bangs, until then gasping for fright Sam sucked a breath of air in panic. Feeling how as freezing fingers as the tone of the specter now circled around his neck, squeezing. The girl's heartbreaking, strangled voice caused shivers dance across Sam's spine, her demanding words echoing in his mind as sinister whispers. Her fingers were ice against his adrenaline ignited hot blood rushing under his skin.

"Why?" she asked again, gazing into Sam's eyes even more intensely. Dean's snort mixing amusement and disdain was heard from the background, among numerous grunts as he was trying to force himself off the wall to come to his brother's aid. Sam recoiled as the fingers rounding his neck tightened convulsively.

"I'm not your boyfriend", he replied, a little out of breath as returned the girl's, the ghost's, stare as sincerely as he could in that situation. "Emma… I'm not Trevor."

The girl recoiled too due the sound of this name. She released a breath. "Trevor?" she repeated, questionably, her eyes once again empty.

"No Emma", Sam gasped, sucking in another deep breath before continued with disjointed voice. "I'm not Trevor. You killed him, Emma."

Even Sam knew it to be a fool's chance, he was trying to wake the remaining of the girl's soul still stuck between this world and afterlife, which had caused her to remain here and not pass forward to heaven. Or hell, who knew. But even his reason said no, some part in Sam wished her to listen and understand. Realize her situation. To be reasonable, if you could call a ghost like that. But unfortunately she'd been bound to the world of the living and to her old life too long.

The girl's eyes were now full of pure pain. They had turned their stare down to witness those gruesome abrasions around her hollow wrists, where Sam couldn't at first turn his eyes away from that jagged mark decorating her once smooth neck, this bruise mirroring the sadistic nature of the one responsible of it. The bloody and scratched skin of hers was a sign of betrayal, and Sam was disgusted when he recalled the way such cruelty had bestowed upon her. By Trevor.

"No", the girl suddenly sobbed. "No you're lying!"

The color of her voice turned darker, and a light bulb on a nearby wall exploded when her once again merciless, ardent irises rose to grasp Sam's, who still was hanging on the wall helpless, at her mercy. Her hazy figure tremored due grudge which provoked her.

"You are lying! You killed me!" she this time screamed, her tone hardened and full of blind rage. She released her fingers from Sam's neck as jerked backwards, him taking in a relieved, deep breath.

But not long after the ghost's desire for retribution had replaced the pair of chocking hands with rope, it now wrapping around Sam's neck in turn. Dean bolted and started to writhe free from the specter's power keeping him still, cursing and kicking, figuratively speaking of course, as was pretty much able to only barely lift his arm. He called Sam's name and yipped the ghost as bitch among other names, both for nothing, sending several glances toward his shotgun which rested on the floor not that far away. So still in vain he repeatedly tried to free himself under the ghost' control, in the end being only capable to follow from the side as his brother would slowly choke to death.

Sam had grabbed the rope with both hands. Trying to loosen it, tugging it with such force that blood drained from his fingers, turning them as white as the ghost's, gasping for breath with all the time more effort. The ghost followed her victim's languish uncaring, turning her hand tardily to tighten the noose further, each twitch causing Sam to cough. Every time he felt the rope's pressure turn greater, he couldn't stop himself from gurgling while simply tried to breathe. Which became impossible the more that torture lengthened. Dean reacted with each desperate gasp his brother took, thinking it to be his last.

"Hey! Let him go you bitch!" he roared again, out of any more insulting nicknames, resulting to one of his constant terms. Wrenching himself even more roughly off the wall, but there he stayed. Like a fly glued to a trap. Neither his hostile words had any effect on the ghost, as the disappointment she'd harbored since her death had numbed the remaining pieces of her shattered, stuck soul, turning them into bitter hatred. And that was all she felt, and she did nothing to stop. She'd killed too many to anymore see the reason why not to.

Sam felt his lungs to be nearly deprived of air, when he once more attempted to tear the blasted rope loose, even it as well was pointless. He was starting to tire out, to see black. The pressure was too overbearing. Sam's eyes started to close when his mind scaled between awake and fainting, him hearing Dean's concerned holler from the distance. But as quickly as his body had started to turn heavy and his consciousness to slip, his eyes now shot open when a new sound of a gunshot broke the oppressive silence. Sam then directing his haggard eyes to gaze over the ghost's shoulder, seeing a familiar form at the faraway doorway. Holding Dean's shotgun, which earlier had flung there in middle of his ass-kicking.

Thanks for reading!

Don't own Supernatural, only Lauren and my additions to the plot.