A/N: Hey guys! Okay, I don't think you guys that reviewed and followed this story understand just how much it means to me that you like this! You guys are awesome and I appreciate you so much! :')

Anyway... Chapters should be coming out more regularly considering I've run out of my completely prewritten material, therefore no more excuses to procrastinate! How great is that? Heh.

I realized that I might need a disclaimer, so. HeH!

I do not, in fact, OWN Supernatural, or Sam, or Dean. Why does that make me sad? NEVERMIND, obvious answer.

Without further adieu, the chapter!

When she was all gathered, she paused helplessly, looking at all of her father's un-packed things.

Why wasn't he here yet?

He should've been. He should've been the first on the road. He would've passed her before Sam and Dean did.

The room seemed to close in on her, palms growing sweaty, hands trembling, and her breaths coming out in gasps. Unless...

"Shit," she hissed, forgetting all of her belongings in front of the hide-a-bed couch and bolting through the door, kicking the rock she had placed to stop the automatic closing mechanism.

The door whooshed behind her and slammed obnoxiously, but Ophelia didn't focus on that, she focused on the motorcycle she had seen at the edge of the motel parking lot the previous morning.

She vaguely noticed the calls of the two hunters she had just met, but she ignored them too.

She had left her father with that son of a bitch. She assumed it was a salt and burn. She assumed the house was the connection. Was she wrong?

Who cares! You left him there!

She practically tackled the motorcycle and was in the process of hot-wiring it with a speed she didn't know she possessed, when she felt the biggest arms she ever felt in her life wrap themselves around her waist and lift.

Panicked by the situation, and definitely panicked by the contact, she lashed out like a tantruming five-year-old. She kicked out her legs and dug her strong nails wickedly into the sleeved arms of her assailant.

The grunt of the man beneath her after her right leg successfully caught his hip startled her to reality to catch herself before the arms left her completely to drop onto the pavement.

She still stumbled to the ground pathetically and frantically looked up.

"Sam?!" She exclaimed, watching the behemoth breathing heavily as he looked down at her, wide-eyed.

"What the hell is your deal!" Dean responded for him, jogging up to Sam's left.

"I-" she coughed. Running - bad idea. "I have to go back!" She cried, her voice hoarse.

The brothers shared a brief glance, and she appreciated the worry she spotted in the gazes, but she was wasting time.

"Go back..." Dean prompted, moving his hand in a circular 'go on...' gesture.

Ophelia was getting increasingly more flustered, and more standoffish.

She needed. To go.

"I-" she interrupted herself and took a deep breath. "We didn't finish. The case here. I left him before knowing."

Sam looked slightly confused, whereas Dean seemed to catch on to what she was saying. "How do you even know?" He asked, a perplexed expression taking over his features.

"Call it a gut feeling," she muttered, agitatedly shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"What did you call it earlier?" Dean questioned suddenly. "A roaming spirit, right?"

Ophelia nodded quickly, damning Dean for taking his damn time figuring things out. Although, she knew it wasn't on purpose. "All of the chicks this spirit has been picking off have black hair, right? Is that why your throat is all-uh-" he gestured lazily towards his own throat, "Irritated?"

Ophelia huffed once more, crossing her arms defensively - offended for no reason other than embarrassment. These questions so far were meaningless. She needed to leave! "No," she curtly answered, lying through her teeth. She didn't had time to explain. "Now, please..." She gestured to the rather impressive Harley, "May I?"

Dean smirked at her biting tone, but only shook his head. "While I'm not above stealing, I'm pretty sure stealin' the loudest thing here isn't a good idea." He and Sam shared another look. "We'll drive you."

"No, absolutely not," she responded immediately, turning to the bike. She was interrupted when Dean's hand clamped on her shoulder and had her face the two of them again.

"Look," his voice was stern, taking Ophelia by surprise. Her eyebrows furrowed defensively as his grip moved from her shoulder to her toned bicep. "If this ghost isn't bound to anything, that means some bad 's' is going the 'f' down here. The last thing you should do is corner yourself off from help."

Sam looked between the two of them, wide-eyed. Dean and Ophelia were silent, their gazes were practically level, as Ophelia was at least a half inch shorter than Dean, and they glared intently at each other until Ophelia finally averted her eyes.

Ophelia blinked in mild shock at herself. She always gave off an intimidating air when agitated like this, and yet she was the one looking away!

"Fine," she literally growled, ripping her arm away from Dean with a savage amount of strength that made Dean stagger slightly forwards with surprise. "But I swear to God, if you so much as stall at ONE stop sign, I will plunge this knife," she gripped the handle of the buoy knife on her belt tightly, "SO far up your ass, I'll be the one driving!"

As she stormed to Dean's Impala, the brothers shared a wide-eyed glance.

"Well," Dean sighed. "This should be interesting..."

"You don't think her dad's in danger?" Sam asked as they followed the woman to the car.

Dean shook his head. "I don't know that, but I do know that if she was the one attacked, her father's at least alive."

"That's shaky logic, Dean," Sam pointed out, lowering his voice as they came closer to the impala.

"Well," Dean replied, gripping the driver door's handle as Sam circled around. "Here's to hope."

A/N: I am so sorry it's such a short chapter! But I have a lot of school work to do.

For my American Sign Language class, the final project is to make a ten (or so) minute video about a movie or show of your choice, and me and my friend chose genderbent Supernatural! Mwhahaha! I wrote the script and now the whole group is Glossing, which means the sentence structure is literally the signs. For example, if you write a sentence that says, "Are you crazy or something? We can't do that, it's suicide," the gloss would be (in caps, idk why...) "YOU CRAZY? WE CAN'T, IT SUICIDE". It's ugly and gross, but hey, at least there subtitles that are going to be the actual script. Glossing is gonna be taking a whole week, so HUZZAH. -kill me-

Hah, I just wanted to share that with you guys. Sorry for making such long Author's Notes! :P

Thank you for reading! And have a great day! :)