A/N: Hey guys! Sorry it's been a bit. :P
So, hey, I've been looking up pictures of buoy knives, and I've had a lot of conflict in choosing the one I thought would be Ophelia's... Until I found out that a particularly badass looking type of buoy knife is called a "Winchester" buoy knife.
Needless to say, I think I HAVE to make that be her knife.
They're beautiful knives, by the way, you should check 'em out. xD
Anyway!
I do not own Supernatural, though I wish I did, and I only own Ophelia and her family, and the idea of Wanda.
If I owned a car like that, I'd be the coolest kid on the block.
The Impala sounded eerily quiet as they drove down the road. The roads in town had been empty, allowing Dean to avoid Ophelia's wrath by rushing past any stop signs.
By now, they were half way there, the twenty minutes in the car high-strung solely because of the woman in the back seat.
Sam would've attempted some kind of conversation, but each time he opened his mouth, it felt as though the air was sucked out of his lungs. He was content to staying silent with the two brooding hunters alongside him.
"Here," was the only word Ophelia had the strength to say.
She had an odd twist in her stomach that crawled up to her throat and pulled down at the corners of her mouth. This was a feeling she had been steadily ignoring since they took off from the parking lot. The feeling was not unfamiliar to her, but it had been a while since she felt it so strongly.
It was guilt, fear, and sorrow all welled up into one emotion that meant if she spoke, the only words to come out would be unattractive sobs.
So only one word was spoken.
The car swerved carefully as the hunter at the wheel turned the car smoothly to the half-hidden road leading to the abandoned shack.
The feeling in Ophelia's gut was only intensifying, but she kept silent and ignored it.
The Impala's engine cut off a moment after the shack came into view, but that was of little importance to Ophelia.
With speed she didn't know she had, she shoved the door open swiftly and scrambled out, leaving the door open behind her.
Wanda wasn't there. Where Wanda was, her father was, but neither were there.
Ophelia, running on adrenaline now, sprinted around the shack, spotting the bags of salt she had been ripped away from spread across the dirty ground.
She raced into the shack, heedless of the calls from the taller of the two hunters.
In retrospect, the entire day was one big fuck up... Pardon the French.
First, the Drakes' argument. Second, the force choking. Third, the second Drakes' argument. Fourth, separating from her father. And lastly...
Separating from the Winchesters.
The moment she had done so, she felt that intense anxious feeling she had earlier tonight. That itch that set your back ramrod straight.
She ignored it this time, mistaking it for her agitation at not finding her father.
Turns out, that itch was Darth Ghosty himself.
The moment she slammed into the shack, the pungent musty smell of rotting wood invaded her senses and she gagged.
She was looking at the charred remains of an unidentifiable object on the small wood-burning stove in the corner, and the next thing she saw was blood-shot eyes and a snarling, pale face with disheveled hair dripping down greasily on the scarred forehead of the man haunting this town.
Before she could scream, yelp, or make any other sound of alarm, his gnarled up ghost hands wrapped around her throat.
He didn't speak, but his expression said everything.
"Not again," his expression vowed. "Not getting away again."
She fought the only way she could in her situation; desperately swinging one of her iron ring-clad hands through the image of the ghost. While usually that would work enough to distract any other ghost, this one had a vendetta, and he didn't care about her puny iron rings.
He did mind, however, when Sam practically materialized behind him and swung a tire iron like a baseball bat, technically decapitating the ghost, forcing it to disappear.
Ophelia fell to the ground - she had been off the ground? - and let out a few rattling coughs.
She was so done being manipulated like a rag doll by this asshole...
"Ophelia!" Sam exclaimed, helping her up hastily. "You good?"
Ophelia nodded once, coughing, as she set off into her deductive mode, tuning Sam's further inquires out as her mind raced.
She thought she was right. Hell, she knew she was right when she deducted this shack being the source of this asshole. She was convinced whatever he was tied to would be here!
Wait... Why did it have to be an item? She hadn't expected this to be a troubling case, and she skipped over the most important detail when looking to kill a ghost.
"Idiot!" She savagely growled to herself, ripping tire iron from Sam's hand.
Just as Dean bounded into the shack, Ophelia swung the tire iron, plunging it into the weak floorboards. She did this three times, making a satisfactory hole in the floor.
"Uh...?" Dean began, but Sam shook his head, suddenly understanding what Ophelia was getting at.
"You didn't check for cremation before coming here?" Sam questioned anxiously, not thinking to bite his remark back. The ghost would be re-materializing anytime now.
The look Ophelia sent Sam took him aback, and he grunted heavily as she handed the tire iron back to him by thumping it into his abdomen.
"Apparently not." She gritted out. "Hold this."
With that, she practically dove into the minimal hole she had made. There was barely any room for her, the length from the wood of the floor to the dirt beneath the shack hardly the length of the space from bed from the ground, but she made do.
The shack was small in square footage, and she found the remains easily from where she lay, with the help of her lighter. "Dean!" She called out. "Get one of those salt bags from outside!"
She heard quick departing steps, and the shuffling of Sam as he surely was cautiously guarding her back.
In the moment of silence, she appreciated him being there.
Not that she'd admit that out loud.
She was brought back to the present when she heard the combination of approaching running steps from outside and Sam charging forward and swinging the iron with a small grunt of effort.
"Where is it!" Dean called out, the adrenaline of the situation causing him to shout, rather than the actual need to be heard.
"It should be a foot from the door and to the right at least two!" She replied in the same manner.
Suddenly, the tire iron crashed through almost precisely where she needed it to be. She jolted when the contact was made, but smirked. She liked these guys.
Taking out a matchbook from her jacket pocket, she waited till the grains of rock salt poured through the floor to strike it.
When she threw the match, the flame sparked green in the darkness of the underbelly of the shack.
Instantly, Ophelia relaxed, and rested her forehead on her forearm, ignoring the horrible smell of the dirt below her.
The moment was interrupted when she coughed, something in her throat rattling, but needless to say, she was relieved it was over. "You okay down there, Ope?" Dean called down.
She somehow maneuvered herself to her side and slid herself so that her top half could emerge from the floor. When she did so, she coughed again, the sound not as rattle-ey, but painful nevertheless. She became lightheaded suddenly, and buried her forehead onto her palm.
She sat there, resting her forehead in her hand, in the hole in the floor of an abandoned hunting shack on the outskirts of the Wisconsin wilderness. The adrenaline drained from her blood quickly and the absurdity of the entire night fell upon her.
Sam and Dean shared a side glance as the woman in the floor burst into near-hysterical giggles.
She brought her forehead from her palm and looked to the two of them, her porcelain teeth shimmering in the moonlight from outside as she laughed up at them.
"We must've passed my dad in town," she giggled harder, the tensing of her stomach brought her forward and she laughed into the dusty, splintering floorboards.
She reclined, and sighed contently. "What a fuckin' night," she stated sardonically. She carefully started to lift herself from the floor, startling slightly when the hand of Sam appeared before her.
She blinked at the appendage, then judged she needed it. She gripped it and slid her legs under her as Sam used his strength to pull her up.
She was right to grab onto his hand, for as she lifted a foot from the hole and meant to place it onto the floor, her equilibrium completely spun in circles and she wobbled, nearly toppling over.
She groaned, closing her eyes. She didn't even notice that Sam had grabbed her opposite arm's bicep to steady her.
She was so lightheaded, it ached. Her temple throbbed and she could feel her heartbeat in the tips of her ears.
"I repeat," she heard Dean. "You okay, Ope?"
"Yeah," she muttered, opening her eyes, and shaking her head at the wavering world around her. She chuckled again. "I sound like a chain-smoker of twenty years. Gross."
She realized heavy amount of contact with her body when Sam chuckled slightly.
She felt her face heat up self-consciously and cleared her throat nodding to say she was alright. Sam helped her out of the hole and let go her, but Ophelia noticed he stayed close to her, just in case.
The three hunters shared a silent look of content, all subconsciously realizing they worked together well.
Interrupting the silence, Dean spoke. "Shall we?" He said, motioning to the door.
All nodded in consent and with that, they were on the road.
A/N: So yeah! Yay. I like this chapter. xD
I'd like to clarify that Ophelia isn't insane, but she definitely isn't 100%. Hence her giggle fest.
Her backstory will be provided in flashbacks, I think, as I really don't like the cliche, "Oh! Okay. Here's my entire life's story, love interest" thing that happens so much. It doesn't seem natural to me.
Anyway, I was reading through my previous chapters and I spotted a crap-ton of small little grammatical errors and stuff, so I just want to apologize in advance for the little "had"s where "have"s go, and any other awkward mistakes.
I apparently don't proofread well enough. xD
Thank you to Sandy for reviewing! I'm glad you want more, I'll be glad to give it. x) And thank you for your compliment! :D