A/N: Hey guys! So things are picking up, I'm planning to finish this up before school starts up. Sorry for the long wait. Let me know what you guys think please!

"Well you see now, you gotta go down Pershire Road 'bout 5 miles, take a sharp left at the gravel road, mind you, the sharp left not left diagonal. Two completely different roads boy, believe me." The old man scrubbed a hand across his scruffy 5 o'clock shadow.

Except the 5 o'clock shadow was thick enough to be a two-day-shadow, an awkward phase, Dean thought, between needing a shave desparately, or needing a week's worth of growth. But he wasn't here to judge some old, crabby hodger's beard sense, especially if Johnny Hamper hadn't learned it by now. "-2miles than you take a right onto Hardecker's Road, named after the guy who put down the rock for us you see? Kinda named it 'cause the Hardecker and his boy had to put so much time into keeping up on the road. Flashfloods if it so much as looks like spittin', so you watch for that boy."

Dean cut Johnny off, wanting to get started on his search on the bridge. "You've been mighty helpful, I gotta get going though. Papers to write and the Publisher ain't the most forgiving of guys if you catch my drift."

The old man nodded in understanding, the leathery skin on his neck jangling with the movement. "I understand boy, places to be and people to see, am I right. Now you get going, when I was your'n age I wouldn't'a listened to some old man neither." Dean smiled politely and wished him a good day before striding off to the Impala mentally swearing at the thought of more dusty backroads, they weren't nice to his Baby's paint or engine.

Time to go visit this "unlucky" bridge, Dean thought with a grimace as he patted Baby's dash in apology for the drive.

SPNSPNSPN

Dean leaned warily against the cold metal railing of the forlorn bridge, eyes scanning the meandering river roughly thirty-five feet below. The river, more like a shallow creek, had rocky outcroppings along the north shore while the south side harbored a deceivingly shallow depth in its murky undertones. Trees lined either bank, a large group of pines with scattered oaks following the steep edge of the water. The sun peeked between the fluffy, popcorn clouds, the kind of clouds that always preceded a good rainstorm.

It truly was a pretty scene, Dean had to admit, a picturesque background that would be well-suited to be found on a postcard. But instead of being a local make-out point for teenagers, it was a local legend for its deaths. It was at this point that at least six abandoned cars had been discovered, the owners never found. All male victims, all drove within two miles of the bridge as a regular route home. This, is why Dean is here, mysterious deaths, abandoned cars, baffled law enforcement, all sounds like a good time to Dean. Dean furrowed his brow, add almost non-existant wildlife to the growing list of "things wrong at Hardecker's Bridge. He looked around, specifically this time for wildlife of any sort, rather than taking in the topography of the river. A bird nesting in an oak, a squirrel in another tree, but not bustling like it should be. He leaned back, one hand on the rail to glance to the left and right. Nope. Not the excess of wildlife that should be at such a Nevada river. The river gurgled with life, but that was the only sound. No birds obnoxiously singing their mating songs, no chattering squirrels, no loud-mouthed animals anywhere. The disappearances were definitely linked here somehow. The clues pointed to it, the cars, lack of wildlife... it had to be here.

But What.

What is here.

Dean started the trek back to the Impala. He had parked her on the gravel road, the other poor blokes didn't have good luck with their cars here, and Dean was certainly not taking any chances with Baby.

She deserved better.

The gravel crunched lazily under his feet as he walked in a zigzag fashion, looking for anything to stick out and help him with the case. Now that he had a layout, he was going to start doing supernatural checks, starting with the EMF detector. Margie and Jackson may have met here, maybe one of them died here. Local accounts are not always as reliable as they seem, small towns like Wintergreen like to keep local shady happenings exactly that. Local. And Dean had come in and introduced himself as a reporter, foolishly. The locals were pretty tightlipped. Thank God for Rosie, the old lady at the library. She had been the one to admit to Dean some of the backstory on the two teenagers, Jackson and Margie. Saying the whole time that they were such poor lost innocents.

Dean didn't know how true that was back then while they were both alive, but at least one of them was his main suspect for the deaths. The timelines matched up for it to be either one of them. The EMF detector in hand, Dean closed the trunk with a distinct thunk and strode steadily back to the bridge.

As Dean came to the middle of the bridge, exactly where the last car had been, movement on his left had him swiveling to face the distraction, he raised the EMF detector in one hand, bracing the elbow of the arm wielding the shotgun. He suspected a ghost, a vengeful one, which made him think Jackson, but it just as easily could be Margie. Just because she had been peaceful, sweet little thing while she was alive did not mean she would remain so in death.

He shifted the shotgun a little, sweeping it left to right in search of the source of the noise. Suddenly, the EMF came to life, whining its high-pitched warning and bleeping out completely. After several minutes passed, with no more sign from the EMF, Dean lowered the shotgun. There was something here, but sitting out here in the open was not doing him any good. He turned in a circle and walked slowly to the other side. As he turned to shoot a glance at the other side of the bridge, the EMF screamed as he came face to face with the faded apparition of a girl.

The EMF continued its screech while the girl backed away from him, hands up defensively.

"No! Please!" She stumbled back so fast she fell. Dean was momentarily baffled, he had come expecting something to toss him around like a rag doll. Not...whatever this is.

"Please! Don't hurt my baby!" Her feet skidded against gravel in her efforts to move away, she held one arm against her stomach protectively.

Dean lifted his shotgun and with a single round, she disappeared with a screech. Satisfied that she was gone, and now knowing who the culprit was, Dean moved to go back to the Impala, this hunt was in the bag. All he had to do was dig up a grace. No sooner had he slung the shotgun over his shoulder however, the EMF shrieked.

"You killed her!"

Dean fell to his knees as something struck him over the head.

"You killed her!"

He scrambled for the gun, rolling onto his back to face the incoming threat, one pissed off ghost by the name of Jackson Simpson. The ghost flown the gun out of his reach with a sweep of his hand.

"You killed her!" Dean was bodily thrown, he tried to push himself up, blood dripped in his eye and he could feel blood oozing down the side of his face. The sharp gravel dug into his palms and knees as he scrambled desperately for the shotgun. It was about twenty-five feet away, too far to do him any good even as he lunged for it, hoping to any deity listening that he would make it.

"And now I'm going to kill you!" One last blow threw him off the bridge and into the river. Dean lost consciousness before he even hit the water. His body tossed around like a limp ragdoll and flung into the rocks.

The apparition stood over the edge of the bridge, watching the hunter's body be bashed by the peaceful looking river, before he slowly faded out of view.