Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural

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Chapter 3

Bridget's POV
After I got off the phone with Sam I looked around the apartment. Most everything was still packed so I rushed around trying to make things as livable as possible before they got here. Unpacking seemed to be the only thing that could keep my mind of both the ghost and the fact that in a few hours I was going to see Dean again. It wasn't until after three when I finally collapsed into bed and quickly fell asleep.

I woke the next day to a knocking sound and checked my watch once I had put my glasses on. It was just after eleven o'clock. The knocking got louder and I sat up in bed. Someone was at my door. I got up without bothering to attempt flattening my hair and went to the door. Once I had unlocked it I cautiously swung it open and found myself looking at the middle of a man's chest. I looked up at him and he smiled down at me. His brown hair was shaggy and I was sure that he could put on a killer puppy dog face with his big brown eyes.

"Are you Bridget?" he asked.

"Yeah. You must be Sam," when he nodded I motioned him inside. "Come on in."

He carefully stepped over the salt line and into the apartment. "Dean said he'd be right up. I left him admiring that red corvette outside."

"That's my baby," I said with a small smile. I ran a hand through my hair and remembered how messy it was, "Oh god, I probably look terrible."

"A little," he said with a chuckle.

"I'll be right back." I turned to go find my hairbrush but didn't make it any further. Dean had just entered the apartment and stood silently with an apprehensive expression on his face. He was just as good looking as I remembered. I squashed that thought and cleared my throat, "Hello Dean."

"Bridget," he said softly. He opened his mouth to say more but I guess he couldn't find the words because he snapped it shut again. His gaze moved lower and I felt my cheeks redden as a smirk appeared on his face. He was checking me out. I was barefoot and wearing only a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination.

I scowled at him and turned to Sam, "I didn't expect you to be here this early. I'm going to jump in the shower real quick and I'll be right out." I left the room and could feel Dean's eyes on me until I was out of sight. I grabbed my robe on the way to the washroom and locked the door once I was inside. I took my time in the shower hoping that when I was finished I'd be able to face Dean. As it stood I'd most likely end up doing one of two things: get angry at him or burst into tears and whine about how he had broken my heart. I hoped it would be the former.

When I finally returned to the living room I was fully clothed with my hair brushed and feeling ready to face the day. When I got there though Sam was gone and Dean was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

I cleared my throat and he jumped out of his seat running his hand through his hair. "Where's Sam?" I asked.

"He's checking out the other apartments," he replied. "Bridget, we need to talk."

I crossed my arms and glared at him, "Like hell we do! You made yourself very clear six months ago. You told me that you never wanted to see me again. Well I'm sorry that I had to make you come here." I turned away from him so he wouldn't see the tears that threatened to fall, "You can leave if you want. But I didn't know who else to call."

"We'll stay," he said quietly. "Sam and I'll take care of this for you. Bridget..."

I whirled around to face him to find that he was now within arm's reach. "What?" I demanded.

"Bridget I…" he began. He let out a sigh, "You know what? Forget it. You obviously don't want to hear anything I have to say."

"You're right," I said with a scowl, "I don't want to hear any of your excuses. Let's just get this thing over with."

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Dean's POV

I took a step backwards without taking my eyes off her. She looked exactly the same as she had when I left her six months ago. One this was different though. There was sadness in her gray eyes and I suspected that I was the reason for it.

I squashed the urge to take her into my arms and sat on the couch, "Right, tell me what you know about this thing."

She put her hands on her hips, "It's a spirit. When I moved in three days ago the lights started flickering. I went to see if the guy across the hall was having problems too. There was another man there with him. He touched my neighbor and his face… it melted!" She sank onto the other end of the couch facing me. "Then it came at me and… and I remembered the salt. Like you told me. I used the salt shaker that was on the table and once the ghost was gone I ran here and poured the salt lines. It's killed two more people since then. Both of my other neighbors. I didn't know what else to do so I called Sam."

"Why didn't you call me?" I asked.

She looked at her hands that were folded in her lap, "I wasn't sure if you'd come if I called. I didn't think you'd even take my call."

I heard the door open before I could reply and looked over to see Sam come in. "It's definitely a spirit," he said.

"Then the next question is who is it?" I asked. I turned my gaze to Bridget, "Are you up for some research?"

She nodded, "What do you need me to look for?"

"Anyone that died in this building," Sam said. "It doesn't matter how far you have to go back. Dean and I need to get some stuff from the car."

I watched Bridget head into another room and continued staring in that direction for a little while.

"Dean," Sam said. "You alright?"

"What? Yeah I'm good Sammy. Let's get this show on the road." I left the apartment with Sam following closely behind.

"So what's the story here Dean?" Sam asked as I opened the hidden bottom in my trunk.

I stuffed my sawed off and a handful of shells into my duffel bag, "I told you I don't want to talk about it so shove off."

"Fine," Sam grabbed his own shotgun. "I'm only saying…"

"Well stop." I slammed the trunk.

"I'm heading back up," Sam said after a moment of silence.

I leaned against the Impala with my gaze on Bridget's corvette that Sam had parked next to. "Whatever." I waited a couple minutes before following running my hand affectionately along the front end of the red vette as I walked past it.

When I got back to the apartment Sam was sitting on the couch cleaning his shotgun and Bridget was probably still in the other room.

"I got it!" I heard her call triumphantly and she entered the living room holding a piece of paper in her hand. "His name was Pete Snider. He worked here back when it was still a brewery. On October 20, 1978 he fell into one of the boiling kettles and died. It was on this floor actually."

"That explains why only your neighbors have been attacked so far," Sam said.

I grinned, "This was a brewery? That's awesome!"

Sam shook his head, "Where is he buried?"

"Um…" her hair fell into her face as she scanned the paper, "It says here that he was buried in Westwood Cemetery."

"I'll go check it out," Sam said getting to his feet. "Try not to kill each other while I'm gone."