A/N: I would really like to thank all of my followers, reviewers, and everyone who has given me such wonderful support as I write this: deanstheman, LilyBolt, mandancie, DearHart and ShadowHawq35. It really means a lot to me, especially where I think that this is not one of my best works. It is truly appreciated! THANK YOU GUYS! And as always, I regrettably don't own Supernatural, it all belongs to the amazing Eric Kripke.

Chapter 9

"I still think this is a bad idea."

Dean eased the Impala to a stop, shifting her into park. It was after dark, the usual time for the spirit of Vanessa MacLeod to make her grand entrance. He stole a glance at his brother, who was already reaching for the handle to the passenger side door. Sam wasn't thrilled with the idea either, especially the fact that his brother had not only suggested to be the spectre's bait, but had come to the idea quickly, as if he were more than ready to go downstairs ahead of schedule. Not because Dean was so anxious to die, but to (at least according to Dean Winchester logic) prevent his brother from wasting his time and energy on saving him. Of course, the elder Winchester had not said so directly, but Sam was no fool. Because if the roles had been reversed, he would have done the exact same thing: in a heartbeat.

"Sam? Sam! I kinda need you to be with me if we're gonna try and pull this off!"

Sam blinked, unaware that once again his mind had drifted. "Yeah, yeah, let's do this."

"You sound so convincing," Dean muttered, opening the trunk and reaching for a pair of flashlights and his shotgun, already loaded with salt rounds. He handed the weapon to his brother, then pulled out his trusty Colt. Loaded and ready to go. Perfect. Shoving the weapon in the back of his jeans and some extra rounds in his coat pocket, Dean closed the hood, turned to his brother. "You got our baddie's Playboy?" When Sam pulled the rolled up magazine from his jacket pocket, Dean nodded in satisfaction. "Guy had poor taste. Should've been Busty Asian Beauties… ah nice."

"Dude, do you think of anything besides porn?"

"Of course I do. Bacon cheeseburgers and beer."

Sam rolled his eyes, cocking his own weapon. "You're hopeless, Dean."

"Nah. More like enlightened."

Sam cleared his throat, hinting that the brothers return to more serious matters, and Dean nodded, reaching for the nudie mag. The plan was for Dean to wait in the Impala, engine running, ready to go, while Sam scouted the area nearby on foot, ready to draw the spirit to Dean if necessary. It was not the best plan either brother had come up with in over a decade, but the options were few and far between. It was either lure the ghost and hope for the best or watch more innocent young men meet a watery grave. Sam gave Dean another nod, the Winchester signal that the plan was to be set in motion, and headed into the darkness, gun ready. Dean once again slipped behind the wheel of his Baby, turning the key in the ignition: the car roared to life. "Sorry I have to do this, Baby," he muttered, running a hand against the dashboard. He watched as the beam of Sam's flashlight grew smaller, until it was a faint glow in the distance. "Damn Sammy I hope this works," he muttered.

XXX

Sam had reached the shore without incident, a fact which did little to ease the nagging discomfort in his gut. Rarely was he nervous on the job to the point of nearly being physically ill, but as he walked further from the Impala and his brother, knowing of what potential danger lay ahead, the young man felt his supper threaten to come back up. Not now, Sam, be cool. You can do this. He scanned the shoreline, eyes ever alert for any physical signs of their spirit, or for the telltale drop in temperature. Nothing. It almost seemed as if the ghost of Vanessa MacLeod knew that the Winchesters were about to vanquish her, and was lying low. Minutes passed, still with no sign of the vengeful spirit; Sam began to feel a surge of relief, despite their mission. No ghost meant no possible replay of the last time the brothers had tried to gank her. Sam shuddered in spite of himself as he recalled the events of the past few days, the time in which Dean had nearly drowned at the hands of their target.

The warm summer night suddenly became freezing cold. Without hesitation, Sam readied his weapon, eyes peeled for any sign that a pissed off water spirit was waiting nearby. And sure enough, a beautiful woman emerged from the harbour, gesturing to Sam with one finger, a look of intense desire in her green eyes. Her dress, soaked from the water, clung to her body, the wet material transparent and revealing her full bosom. With each step, her red hair clinging to her heart shaped face, the spirit beckoned, one finger pressed against her full, pouty lips.

"Come to me."

Sam froze, entranced. His mind raced a mile a minute, fully aware of how dire his situation was at the moment. Shitohshitohshit she's got me. Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck…

"Come to me, Sam." Closer, now running one hand along her breast, down her abdomen, and along one leg, lust in her voice and eyes. Sam tried to back away, but felt frozen. His brain willed him to move, thousands of synapses firing off messages telling him to haul ass. But his feet remained solid to the ground, as if in protest. By now Vanessa's spirit had approached Sam, had cupped his chin in one delicate hand. She stared into his eyes, her own bright with both hatred and desire. With the gentleness of a lover (like Jess, Sam thought with horror) she breathed softly in his ear, slid one hand inside his shirt, tracing her fingers along every inch of his chest. "Come to me, Sam." And he shuddered as he felt her lips, surprisingly soft, press against his, at first gently, and then with passion. For what seemed like an eternity (but was in fact less than a minute) the spirit kissed him, running her hand through Sam's thick mop of hair, entwining each tangled lock with her slender fingers. And Sam could do nothing but watch, wanting desperately to feel repulsed but was instead aroused by the spirit's touch. The thought appalled him, nearly as much as the thought of trusting Ruby did. But despite his best efforts, he could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, not from fear but pleasure.

Shitshitshit…..

The spirit had finally stopped kissing, pulling her lips away from Sam's in an equally seductive manner, and gently grasped his hand, her fingers entwined in his. Without a word, she led him to the harbour, her gaze still locked on her prey's. Again, Sam could feel his feet shuffle from their spot, his legs carrying him to harm's way, but could do nothing to stop it. Oh god Dean you have to distract her. Shit Dean, get your ass down here NOW! But Dean was still sitting in the Impala, waiting for Vanessa MacLeod to make her way over to him, and pull the same stunt on the elder Winchester. Sam closed his eyes, hoping that somehow breaking visual contact would dispel the spectre's power, somehow sever the connection between the two. As expected, it was of no use.

Closer to the harbour now, and Sam finally felt a hint of his fear overpower the lust the vengeful spirit had programmed into his brain, heart, and loins. He tried to call out Dean's name, but it seemed as if the ghost had control over his larynx as well, for not a sound formed from beneath his throat. Closer still, and Sam could feel the damp of salt water as the spirit led him down the small embankment and into the water. Though initially shallow, it only took a few meters for Sam's feet to be no longer touching the bottom. The spirit once more cupped her hand beneath the young man's chin, looked deeply into his hazel eyes. "Come to me…."

"Like hell," Sam finally managed to spit out, hissing at the spirit's touch. Undeterred by the rejection, the spirit kissed Sam one more time, aggressively, fingers again entangled in his thick, dark hair. They brushed against his ear, pulled a loose lock from his forehead, and then suddenly pressed down at the crown of his head, pulling Sam under. The last thing Sam remembered before going under was the sound of his brother's voice calling frantically in the distance.

"SAMMY!"

XXX

Sam had always been a strong swimmer, could hold his breath longer than any of his colleagues on his high school swim team. But as he was held beneath the surface, the darkness of the harbour enveloping him, Sam knew that he didn't have much longer. He thrashed his arms wildly, trying to free himself from the ghostly woman's grasp, but the efforts were proving to be futile. It was as if heavy chains were wrapped around his body, weighing him down, pulling him deeper and deeper into the abyss below. For a moment, as crazy as it seemed, Sam recalled their previous encounter with a water spirit, in which its victims had drowned under eerily similar circumstances. Though he had always felt for the victims (Sam would be the first to admit that he more sensitive) he had never really thought of just how horrible the process of drowning was, especially when that person was unable to defend himself. It was horrible, frightening; in fact, it was among the most terrifying occurrences in his life, second only to the thought of Dean being ravaged by Hellhounds.

Sam could feel the tightness in his chest as his lungs fought desperately for air. He tried to kick his legs, to somehow reach the surface, but his efforts were doing nothing to aid him, but seemed in fact to hinder him. So this is it, he thought to himself, as darkness slowly began to overcome him; the kicking and thrashing began to slow down. So this is how I die. And as the last grips of consciousness left him, the last thing Sam thought was: looks like Dean's going to Hell for nothing.