A/N: Not sure how well-received the first chapter was so thought I'd throw something else in. This probably isn't what people are reading at the moment, really. What with the new season (aaaahh!). But, meh. XD
(Oh and btw, the ghost story is a (supposedly) real one from near my NZ home.)
(And please excuse any geographical slurs. I don't know the first thing about American geography - I just asked Google maps for help...Feel free to lend some guidance.)
The first time Sarah Nelson met the Winchesters, they pissed her off; not unusual when the brothers encountered other hunters.
Sarah had heard of a ghost story surrounding a hunting cabin - a hunter (the ordinary type), some 50 years ago, who had shot half of his own face off while cleaning what he thought was an unloaded gun. As the story went, he now looked for the missing part of his face on the people who visited his cabin. What had caught Sarah's interest was the deaths that had occurred there - people stumbling blindly into the forest with half their faces missing.
It took Sarah a day to hike the normally half-day tramp out to the cabin, choosing to go in the middle of winter when it was less likely that anyone might be there.
Imagine her surprise when she found two young men already inhabiting the place.
Imagine her annoyance when she found out they were hunters.
Imagine her absolute fury when the oldest one tried to hit on her.
When the ghost next appeared, she 'missed' slightly - almost hitting Dean.
"What the hell was that, your highness?" he yelled at her when the ghost had gone, as of her second (more accurate) hit.
"I don't know, Casanova," she replied acidly. "I missed?"
Sam had been laughing in the corner that time, too.
Upon the conclusion of that job, Sarah and the Winchesters parted ways with a grudging mutual respect and a means of contacting one another. Sarah hadn't thought anything would come from it, though; hunters of the supernatural didn't tend to hunt in packs.
So when her phone began ringing as she chased a shape-shifter through the streets of a small town in Wyoming, she glared at the name lighting up her caller-ID.
"Dean Winchester, you better not be calling to ask me out because now is not a good time to put you down gently!" she growled into the phone, popping off a few rounds at the shape-shifter.
Dean laughed. "Gently? When have you ever put me down gently, sweetheart?"
"Every time, darling. DAMNIT!" she stopped, panting, as the shape-shifter whhipped down an alley with a dead-end, seemingly disappearing entirely. "You better have a bloody good reason for making me lose my hunt, Winchester!"
"Oh, I do. I'm just much more interested in what you were hunting - werewolf? Ghost? Shape-shifter? I hope you had the right bullets in that gun of yours, sister."
"What d'you think I am, an amateur?" Sarah replied cockily. "My patience is wearing thin, cowboy. What do you want?!"
"Okay, okay! Not in a sharing mood, then!" he was enjoying this far too much. "We heard you knew a thing or two about witches...?"
"Oh yes? And where might you have heard that?"
The boys had been having particular trouble with one hell of a hag. They were quite near the Roadhouse, so they decided to check with Ellen to see if she knew any witch experts. When she suggested one Sarah Nelson, Sam began to laugh and Dean groaned.
"Are you kidding me?" Dean dropped his head down to rest where his arms were leaning on the bar. Sam laughed harder.
"I take it you boys know our Sarah then?" Ellen asked, eyes flicking between the two brothers.
"You mean the English 'tall, dark and snarky'?" Sam chuckled. "Oh yeah, we've met her. Why don't you call her, Dean? I seem to have lost her number..."
There was an indiscernible groan that sounded very much like an insult from Dean's arms, only causing Sam greater laughter.
"Didn't work out well then, I take it?" Ellen grinned at Sam.
"Well, you know them both pretty well, Ellen," Sam grinned back, "I think you can imagine how it might have gone."
Ellen looked into space for a moment and a smirk grew slowly over her face. "You know, I can see exactly what you mean."
"Could I trouble you for a beer, Ellen?" Sam patted his brother's shoulder. "I've got some time to pass while Dean here makes a phone call."
"Sure, honey."
Sam started to walk away with his beer but then he stopped.
"Actually," he said to Ellen as he sat back down at the bar, "I think I'd rather listen to this."
"Can't say as I blame ya." Ellen looked up and down the bar, noting it empty. "In fact, it looks like I've got a spare few minutes to listen, too."
Dean finally raised his head to glare at them both but when he was met only with smirks, he sighed resignedly.
Pulling out his cell, he said, "Do you think it's possible to kill someone over the phone?"
