Hello?

Dean groaned softly... the pain in his head surging forward. He struggled to remember why exactly his head felt like it was split open. At first the only thing he could remember doing was arguing with Sammy on whether or not he should do the vengeful spirit gig alone. Sam had said he shouldn't, so Dean had offered him the Black Dog nine-to-five.

Hello?!

Yes! That was it! The vengeful spirit that hadn't been a vengeful spirit. The good looking (from a completely heterosexual point of view) and soft-spoken priest that had disappeared. The rock salt rifle that would do jack shit, even if he happened to get it back.

HELLO?!

Wow, the voice in his head was getting pretty fucking loud.

Dean slowly opened his eyes, his cheek still pressed against the cold earth and the soft smell of lavender surrounding him. His side protested painfully at the way he was laying on the ground. He blinked a few times to clear the unconsciousness from his gaze before he looked to the girl that was shaking him gently, realizing she was probably the one who had tried to scream him awake.

She was about Sam's age, and was kneeling in front of him with one hand on his shoulder and the other just under his ribs. She had brown hair that was just below shoulder length, tied back with a white ribbon. Her skin was softly tanned, but had an odd look to it, as though it only happened recently and she actually spent more time indoors. She had light copper colored eyes, and her face was a picture of concern and fear. At the same time Dean could see something in her eyes that he didn't quite recognize, but he knew he had seen it before on someone else's face.

He was on his side, right in front of the tombstone and inches from the edge of Frank's grave. He briefly wondered what would've happened if his unconscious form had rolled over and fallen in, and shuddered at the thought. She was on the more solid ground near his head, and was stretched awkwardly to shake him the way she was.

"Hey, are you ok?" The girl asked gently, staring at him with those light bronze eyes as he sluggishly lifted his head. "Did you know you're bleeding?" Her tone had an air of naiveté, and he gave her a look of contempt. It wasn't anything to do with her, but his head was bleeding, a zombie knocked him out, and the guy who had promised to pay him for disposing of the creature was missing. The day had started out bad and ended up worse.

"No, I didn't know that. I'm in horrible pain because everything's peaches and cream." He snapped, trying to sit up from his position on the ground.

Pain spiralled from his side into all his other extremities, and he cried out in shock. For a moment he thought the girl had done something, as her hand was right over where the pain was coming from, but he didn't have much time to think about that before her other hand was over his mouth, muffling his cry. After a bit more muffled complaining she removed it, and he glared at her indignantly.

"When I said 'Did you know you're bleeding' I meant 'Did you know you've been stabbed?'." She muttered "I assumed you knew about the head wound." She lifted her hand off his ribs and held it out to the thin moonlight, showing him that it was covered in his blood. He looked down to see a large hole in his shirt, and then a very nasty looking gash parting his skin. He looked back at the woman and sighed slightly before speaking.

"Listen, I don't know what you're doing here-" She turned a pale pink, and for a moment he admired how attractive she was. "-But you have to leave." He sat up, gritting his teeth against the fresh wave of agony, and pressed his own hand down on the cut to stem the flow of blood. "Like, now."

She stood slowly and glared at him, and he put her at about 5'7 or 5'8. She was wearing a short sleeved, dark purple shirt with a jean jacket and black, baggy jeans with sequined designs spiralling up her legs. She was wearing flat-sole runners and the typical pentagram necklace of new-age woman who thought it was for summoning and had no idea it was a protection symbol. Her hair shone lightly in the moonlight and her eyes turned brilliant amber when light hit them in just the right way.

"No, you listen bud. I'm here to visit my great aunt-" She glanced at the headstone next to his "-Rose." She bowed her head and made a big show of wiping a tear from her eye. "Poor, poor Aunt Rose." She whispered, her voice hitching.

Dean looked at the headstone and read the engraved inscription, then burst into laughter.

"So your great aunt rose died in 1864 and was five years old?" He grinned at his 'Rescuer', eyes peeled for a certain mass-murder-turned-zombie.

She raised her head and re-read the inscription.

"Great-great-great-great-many more greats aunt." She muttered hastily. "From Cleveland." Dean shook his head and tried to stand, getting up and leaning against the tombstone for support.

Suddenly the tree branch from the earlier attack came into his line of sight, raised right above the woman's head. Dean opened his mouth to shout a warning that he already knew was too late, but was shocked into silence in the next instant.

The lithe girl raised her head sharply, staring straight at Dean and ducking just as the limb swung at her head. It grazed by her left ear as she dropped down; reveling Frank's decaying and rancid body. His gaping eye sockets widened in something like surprise before he found himself lying on the ground, his legs having been swept nicely from under him.

He took this opportunity to study the attacker, taking in the fact that he had no eyes or teeth. His hair was long and black, hanging in scraggly wisps from his scalp. His skin was grey and-The only way to really describe it was hanging- from his bones. He had no real muscles anymore. There were the remains of his burial clothes around his waist (thank god) but you could literally see through the man's chest courtesy of a ragged hole that took up most of his midriff.

Dean watched in amazement as Frank stood and swung at this girl, who had stood up into a relaxed but very visible martial arts stance. She blocked the attack and countered by grabbing his clammy arm, the skin swaying from his bone disturbingly in layers, and pulling him into a forceful front kick. His brittle ribs cracked loudly, but he showed no sign of pain.

The un-dead serial killer grabbed her hair and punched her in the face, and she gave a short cry. The sound of pain now had the zombie in a frenzy, and long strings of glittering, foamy spit hung down from his mouth as he continued to hit her.

Dean tried to push off the tombstone to help her, but fell back with a gasp as nausea swept over him. He could barely stand, let alone help the attractive girl with the kick ass karate skills.

Blood ran down her face in thin rivers, and she looked as if she was about to pass out. Then, suddenly, she raised her hand to chest height and screamed out some short words in what sounded like Latin.

There was a flash of green incandescent light, and Frank's body was hurled into the air by some seemingly invisible force. The woman fell to her knees and swayed from side to side; looking pale and exhausted, before the decomposing body fell back to earth with a bone-shattering thud about ten feet behind his now for sure rescuer. Dean slumped against the trunk of a tree, staring at her.

"Who are you?" He suddenly remembered where he had seen the look in her eyes; it was one he had seen on the faces of hunters everywhere. Knowledge of what they were fighting, no matter how hard. She was slowly crawling over to him, grass staining her knees green even though most of it was dead, and when she got to him she collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily.

"Adina, Adina Montgomery." She looked up at him from her position on the ground, then raised her head to look at Frank Austin's body.

"Shit." She muttered, her head dropping back to the ground limply. He looked in Frank's direction and watched as he slowly sat up, turning his gaping eyes towards them.

"Sahara!" Adina called loudly, eyes still closed. "Some help would be nice!"

Dean stared at her briefly, wondering if she was insane.

"Alright, alright, but only because you asked so nicely." Another, distinctly female voice rang through the night, and seconds later a young woman, presumably Sahara, landed quietly behind Frank, who was now almost standing.

There was a blur of motion, (her momentum from the jump propelled a side kick very nicely) and Dean watched Frank stumble towards them helplessly, pushed by her violence. His arms pinwheeled in an almost comic way as he tried to regain his balance.

Cavernous eyes stared at the hunters before them almost pleadingly, and Dean casually flipped his middle finger up in distaste. He pressed his other hand a bit tighter to his chest, pain radiating up his body in spirals.

The man fell forewords into his own grave, and Dean caught a brief glance of the woman who'd kicked the zombie hard enough to send him rolling. The only thing he was sure of was that she had brown hair tied in a messy bun, and was wearing sunglasses. She then jumped into the grave with a soft thump. There was a sick squelching noise and a muffled scream, the sounds of struggle, and then silence. Except for Adina and Dean's heavy breathing.

There was a long pause, and then the girl looked at him for a second and rolled over, letting her eyes peek over the side of the hole timidly.

A gray, mottled hand shot up from inside the dark crypt, moving in a very snake-like way, and she screamed loudly, scrabbling back from the lip of the grave and shuddering in disgust and fear.

TBC