A/N: Thanks again to all who have supported me while writing this story: deanstheman, LilyBolt, mandancie, DearHart, and ShadowHawq35. It's greatly appreciated! DISCLAIMER: I don't own Supernatural or any of its characters. All rights reserved.

Chapter 10

"SAMMY!"

Sam's eyes flashed open as he sat up, gasping for breath and choking on salt water. Before him, Dean breathed an obvious sigh of relief, concern welling in his eyes. "Thank God," he murmured, helping his younger brother sit up and placing a still shaking hand on his shoulder. "Thought I'd lost you, kiddo."

Sam finally felt his coughing fit let up, and he allowed his brother to help him to his feet. "I'm fine, Dean. But our spirit's somewhere close. We've gotta get moving."

"Sam. You almost drowned! You need to take a minute, catch your second wind, or at least get some dry clothes."

Sam shook his head no, mouth in a firm line, a look of grim determination on his face. "I know you're worried, Dean, hell, I was freaked when you almost drowned, but this has gone on long enough. No one else is going to die tonight, at least not on my watch."

Dean stared at his brother for a moment, nodded his head in agreement. It had scared him to see his brother so close to death, lying lifeless on the ground. Memories of that night in Cold Oak flashed before him, a painful reminder of what had happened before and what could very easily have happened again if he had not pulled his unconscious brother from the water. Now, seeing Sam alive and well, breathing on his own, Dean wanted nothing more than to take his little brother home, let him sleep off the events, and try to figure out a Plan C in the morning. But he knew Sam was right. If they missed out on their opportunity to gank the water spirit tonight, who knew when another chance might come up? No, the job had to be finished.

"So what do we do now?"

"Stick to the plan," Sam answered grimly, testing his now water soaked weapon. As expected, it was useless. They'd have to go back to the Impala and get a new one. "Only this time, it may not be the best idea to split up."

"No kidding, Poindexter." Now that his brother was out of danger, Dean could feel his sense of humour returning. Sam glared at him, and Dean chuckled, giving his brother a gentle slap on his shoulder. "'Dean, you go be the water bitch's bait!' Says the guy who got seduced by a dead chick."

"I never said you should be her bait," Sam grumbled, finding no humour in Dean's words. The older brother grinned. You were getting it on with a dead chick. The side of Sammy Winchester we never knew."

"Shut up, Dean." But this time Sam couldn't help but let out a grim smile. His brother had a way of making him laugh, or at least mildly grin, in the worst possible situations. God he was going to miss that.

Stop thinking in the past tense! Sam quickly blinked, pushing the thought from his mind. He had a spirit to vanquish; the last thing he needed was for his judgment to be clouded from worrying about his brother. Fortunately, Dean had missed the sudden look of pain in his brother's face, instead making his way to the still running Impala. "Come on, Sam. We've got work to do."

XXX

Five minutes later, the brothers were once again sitting in the Impala, eyes peeled for Vanessa MacLeod's spirit to materialize before them. Not surprisingly, the first twenty minutes proved to be uneventful and Dean had been obliged to turn off the engine. Already their attempt to vanquish their latest foe was proving to be hard on gas. The brothers engaged in small talk, hoping to distract themselves from the past events (or, though neither Sam nor Dean would admit it, the future as well), all the while alert for any sudden movement, drastic temperature drops, or, as Dean had so eloquently put, urge to suddenly want to have sex with pissed off water spirits. As expected, this remark earned a punch and bitchface from Sam.

Finally, after half an hour, Sam thought he could see an apparition in the distance; the temperature dropped significantly, and Dean immediately fired up his Baby, ready to leave in short notice. The brothers waited anxiously as the Rusalki approached, always gesturing with one slender finger, always calling with a low, seductive purr. "Damn, this chick doesn't take no for an answer," Dean joked lamely, his words falling on deaf ears.

"You got the magazine?"

Dean nodded, pulled the Playboy from his coat pocket. "Good," Sam answered, watching tensely as the spirit approached. "This time we're ready for her."

Moments later, the spirit had approached the car, and in a flash, materialized inside, positioning herself on Sam's lap. Ready for round two, Sam thought grimly, repulsed by the woman before him. Like before, the ghostly figure repeated her usual methods of arousal, and again, the younger Winchester tried to ignore the spirit's attempts. Beside him, Dean watched anxiously, waiting for his cue to gun the Impala and drive as far away from the shore as possible. When Sam began to feel the tightening in his jeans, he nodded, and Dean shifted the car in gear, practically slamming his foot on the gas and hoping that the spirit wouldn't be too distracted by the moving vehicle to stop with her deadly game.

Luck finally held with the Winchesters, as the spirit seemed to not notice, or care, that she was moving further from the water with each rotation of the Impala's tires. She continued instead with her pray, repeating the same movements that she had earlier: nibbles and whispers in the ear, caressing the chest, first gentle, then passionate kissing. Sam endured it all, once again repulsed that the spirit's "charms" were proving to be effective. He knew that it had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with manipulation, a twisted form of mind control. But that didn't make the action feel any less dirty. For a moment, he thought of Jess, of rainy Sunday afternoons when they would spend the day away making love before settling comfortably before the TV, eating popcorn and watching classic movies on AMC. To be seduced by a ghost, to be seemingly falling for this twisted thing's charms, almost made him physically ill.

And then, another thought. The spirit before him was once a woman, a sister, daughter, friend, whose life had been tragically snuffed out far too soon. She had rarely felt the touch of a young lover, enjoyed those rare moments of intimacy. And Sam remembered the words he had told Molly McNamara that night, what seemed like an eternity ago. "You sound almost sorry for them," Molly had told Sam as they leafed through their vengeful spirit's old photo albums. And Sam had felt that way, had told Molly as much. "Well, they weren't evil people, you know? A lot of them were good. Just… something bad happened to them. Something they couldn't control."

Something they couldn't control. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think of the words from what seemed like decades ago, and forget that the lost soul before him had tried to kill him twice, plus his brother, for good measure. Now we really have to stop Vanessa, he thought. To save her.

Meanwhile, Dean was still steering the Impala along the dirt road, silently cursing that the damn thing ran along the shore. Great. Fucking-A. Beside him, Sam had already been thrust against his seat, the sign that the final, deadly stage of the game was about to begin. Time for Act 3. Dean scanned the road before him, searching desperately for a turn off that would lead away from the harbour, finding nothing. And then, he remembered it. The porn magazine in his coat. Expertly, Dean pulled out the magazine with one hand, waving it tauntingly before the spirit. "Hey, Vanessa, remember this?" Please let this work. Please…

To Dean's relief, the spirit pulled away from Sam, glared at the man behind the wheel. Indeed she did recognize the glossy volume, for hatred immediately filled her green eyes. Dean grinned, relieved that his plan seemed to be working. Perhaps it would do no good with drying the ghost's hair, but at least it would distract her from Sam until he could reach the turn off. The spirit let out a hiss of anger, and tried to reach for the magazine. Instead, Dean pulled his hand away, like a stubborn child playing keep-away from his annoying siblings. "Sorry, sugar, but you've gotta try a bit harder than that."

Vanessa let out a horrific screech of anger, and one more tried to snatch away the volume. Once again, Dean was able to keep it out of the spirit's reach. But he knew that this game wouldn't go on forever. In no time she would catch on and snatch that magazine; and then the brothers would be back at square one. They had to reach that turn off. Fast.

Catching on, Sam nodded his head at Dean. His older brother winked in understanding, and tossed the Playboy to his brother, who continued with his brother's little game. After his recent memories of Molly McNamara, the woman who had no clue that she had been dead for over a decade, it pained him slightly to be tormenting the spirit, but he had no choice. In frustration and anger, the Rusalki tried once again to take the magazine, to no avail. "Dean, the window!" he hissed, and Dean immediately cranked down the window. He knew exactly what his brother had planned. It was a crazy idea, not likely to work, but considering how fucked up this entire job had been, even crazy just might work.

Sam nodded his thanks, gesturing for his brother to be ready. Dean nodded, finally seeing the turn off up ahead. The car at last sped away from the harbour, the distance between the spirit and her watery home diminishing with each mile. Sam waited a few moments, and then expertly tossed his brother the magazine. For a moment, Sam felt his heart drop as his brother nearly dropped the periodical to the floor. Fortunately, Dean regained his grip on the magazine and quickly tossed it out the open window. "This better work, Sammy," he muttered, eyes still peeled ahead.

"It will work. I think."

"Thanks for the bout of confidence."

"Not the time Dean."

The brothers waited with baited breath, hoping that the spirit would abandon her task and instead go after the magazine. Already she had been away from a water source for too long, and her hair was beginning to dry. Sam felt a hint of hope that maybe, their crazy plan would work after all. Sure enough, the spirit vanished, and then reappeared a few miles back, kneeling on the ground, ripping at the magazine with intense hatred. Their plan seemed to be working! Dean eased off the car to a stop, watching anxiously in the rear-view mirror as the ghostly woman tore piece after piece of the magazine, thrusting each wadded up bit of paper like a wounded animal. Again Sam felt pity for her, the woman whose life had been taken tragically, and in such a horrific manner, all those years ago. He remembered Tessa, the reaper who had tried to take Dean those hours after the car crash, the woman whose presence Dean had initially forgotten following his ordeal. Upon remembering, when the brothers had shared one of their rare moments of grief, Dean had admitted that he had had a conversation with the Reaper about crossing over, and how his older brother had come very close to being the very thing the brothers hunted. How do you think angry spirits are born?

And Sam, against his better judgment, climbed out of the car. Dean tried to stop him, but knew just how stubborn his kid brother could be. He had stood up to their father on more occasions than Dean would care to remember, and had left the family business in search of higher education, against their dad's wishes. Sam Winchester was stubborn as a mule, just like his daddy, and if he wanted to get out of the car, he would damn well get out of the car. So instead of trying to stop him, Dean climbed out too, eyes peeled on his brother, ready to escape at a moment's notice. But there was no need. In the distance, there was a shimmering light before them. The young woman looked at the boys, almost as if giving a silent thanks, and then disappeared into the night, leaving only the fluttering pieces of Nathan Long's outdated dirty magazine.

"She's gone," Sam whispered in relief. Dean nodded in agreement, watching as the bright light before them faded into darkness. They stood there for a moment, almost as if entranced, before finally climbing in the Impala and heading back to the motel.