Hey there all you wonderful people!

Before you read what comes next, I want you to know that I am NOT abandoning this story.

If you're a Captain America fan and are reading the other story I have, you might know that it's getting into some pretty suspenseful and epic stuff right now. I like to have at least three to five chapters written ahead of time so I don't rush the writing; I want you guys to have something good to read. And right now, I feel like my writing for this story is a little half-assed because of how close I am to finishing Beyond Repair-I just posted chapter 37, and have up to 42 saved on my laptop. Until I have BR done (no more than seven more chapters), updates for Reincarnated are going to be a little slow, maybe every two weeks instead of once a week. I don't expect this to last more than a month or so at the most, but I wanted to warn you all. I could keep up with my weekly updates but the writing wouldn't be up to my standards, and I'd rather post something I'm proud of and you will all enjoy than just updating to update.

I hope I didn't crush any of your fragile, pretty little hearts. *bats eyelashes and smiles, all with subtle sarcastic undertones*

~Christianne

PS~ I know pretty much nothing about the [modern] military or how one becomes a priest-don't judge me

Nikki POV

"You got Bobby's number, right?" I asked Kory, playing with the pendants on Chris's necklace.

"Uh-huh, I'll call him, or you if I need any help." Kory told me. She had been taking on spirits the last few weeks, almost exclusively. She was going to try and take on a bigger fish; a ghoul. I made sure she had a shotgun, and she knew it was exclusively headshots—I was confident in her.

"Call me if you just need to make sure your information makes sence. Call Bobby if you need anything that can't wait more than five minutes." I told her. "I called Bobby yesterday, so he won't hang up on you right away."

"I know," Kory groaned. "Talk to you soon?"

"Yeah." I said, then hung up.

I was waiting for Sam and Dean to finish up talking to the aunt of the girl who drowned in her shower. I didn't like it; drowning, water, any of it. I was a few hours behind them, I took a detour to go to Sunday mass.

I sat in the back, didn't go up for communion, and only half listened to the sermon. It was pointless for me to go, really, but I felt like I needed it.

I spent most of my time staring at the stained glass windows. The colorful geometric patterns made colorful shadows on the white plaster walls. I slouched in the pew, my elbow on the rest on the end and put my temple on my fist, concentrating on the beautiful angels set in the windows.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" A male voice asked, startling me.

I jerked up and saw a priest, no older than 30, smiling down at me. Still a little on edge from the sudden appearance of the man, I just nodded. Mass must have ended, the church was empty.

"Yeah…They were made by Louis Comfort Tiffany, his father started Tiffany's." He continued. "They were installed in 1909." He smiled up at the windows. "I'm Father Luke, by the way." He gave a polite smile and held out his hand; I didn't take it.

"Nikki." I said simply. I nodded again, at what he said before, looking at the detailed feathers on the angels. "It's always angels, Jesus, Mary and other saints in windows and pictures…Why don't they put God in stained glass?" I found myself asking. "I mean, it'd be nice to put a face with the name."

"God is everywhere and in everything." He answered me simply, moving to sit in the pew in front of me, turning in it so he could still see me. I eyed his left leg as he walked; he limped.

I snorted, smiling a little. "In everything…Not in the things I deal with on a daily basis…God wouldn't touch those with a ten foot pole."

The priest just blinked at me. "If God wouldn't be involved, what makes you think you should be involved?"

I shrugged. "God wants us all to be happy, right?" He nodded. "Well, I have to deal with some stuff so other people can be happy.—And please, don't go all 'Why you?' I'm…I'm good at this, protecting people. I don't have much'a choice anyway."

"If you're helping people, and think it's something your good at, why do you seem so unhappy?" Father Luke asked me.

I shrugged. "What I do…It kinda contradicts everything the good sisters at Gilded Cross Catholic School taught me about right and wrong."

Father Luke nodded. "I went to Catholic school too, you know. Then I joined the Marines…As a sniper."

Marines. Well, that explains the limp then.

"Did you become a priest before or after you left the Marines?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

"During, actually; when I was laid up with this." He said, smacking his leg sharply, then rubbing his knee. "Shrapnel."

I nodded, looking back and the windows. "I should get going." I said, standing up, using the toes of my Converse to push the bottoms of my skinny jeans down.

Father Luke stood up. "Come back anytime." He said with a smile. I gave an awkward little smile before I left quickly and got in my car to meet the boys in Massachusetts.

That's where I was waiting now. I was parked across the street from the Impala.

Or, I thought I was. My eyes snapped open when I looked back and didn't see the black car behind me.

"Shit." I said under my breath, getting out of my car.

I got over to the now empty parking space just as Sam and Dean got there.

"This is where we parked the car, right?" Dean asked, standing in the empty space. Sam and I nodded.

"Where's my car?" Dean asked plainly.

"Did you feed the meter?" Sam asked.

"Yes I fed the meter!" Dean groaned. "Where's my car? Somebody stole my car!" He yelled that last part. I came pretty close to saying something about karma, but decided against it.

"Hey hey hey, calm down." Sam snapped.

"I am calm! Somebody stole my ca-!" Dean cut off, and started taking some slow, deep breaths. He put his hands on his knees and bent over, saying 'oh my God' over and over.

"I think he's hyperventilating." I said to Sam, who was looking around.

He quickly pulled his brother up, and told him to take it easy.

"'67 Impala? Was that yours?"

I spin around at the British voice and glared at the brunette walking towards Sam, Dean and me.

"Bela." Sam said lowly. So, that's the name she goes by.

"I'm sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. She hadn't noticed me, I crossed my arms, cocked my hip and waited. "I had the car towed."

"You what?!" Dean yelled.

"Well, it was in a tow-away zone." Bela reasoned with a shrug.

"No! No it wasn't!" Dean yelled again.

Bela leaned forward slightly. "It was when I finished with it."

Then she saw me.

Her eyebrows rose and I gave her a sweet smile. "What are you doing here?" She snapped.

"I think I could ask you the same thing." I said casually.

"Wait—you know each other?" Sam asked, looking between Bela and me.

"Yup." I said simply.

"She robbed me." Bela told Sam sharply.

"You broke into my car and stole my grimouire; karma was going to bit you in the ass for it. Better I did something than whoever you were going to sell it to did. By the way, you were going to get stiffed on the price." I said calmly.

"Stiff—you don't even know how much I was going to get!" Bela said, her voice raising. Ha. She was so easy to piss off.

"Doesn't matter. There's literally a spell to turn dirt into gold; you were gonna get stiffed." I told her, saying the last part slowly. She rolled her eyes. "Never answered my question, what are you doing here?"

She gave a shrug. "A little yachting." She said, looking at the marina behind us.

Sam narrowed his eyes slightly. "You're Alex. You're working with the old lady."

Bela/Alex smiled. "Gert's a dear old friend." She lied.

"Yeah, I'm sure." I scoffed.

"What's your angle?" Sam asked, ignoring me.

"There's no angle." Bela corrected him. "There's a lot of lovey old women like Gert up and down the Eastern seaboard. I sell them charms, perform a few séances so they can commune with their dead cats. The comfort I provide for them is very real, it's not my fault if they want to compensate me for my efforts." She said innocently, starting to walk away.

"How do you sleep at night?" Sam asked flatly.

"On silk sheets, rolling naked in money." She said. I made a disgusting sound, thinking of how I had thrown $1,000 in the air at my motel room and even pressed some to my cheeks and inhaled the smell. "Really Sam, I'd expect the additude from him," she nodded at Dean. "but you?"

"You shot me." Sam said slowly.

She did what?

"I barely grazed you." Bela said, like she was talking to a small child. Sam rolled his eyes.

"Just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble." Bela told us sternly. I scoffed at the idea. I was going to take my sweet time on this job now. "And I'd get that car if I were you, before they find the arsenal in the trunk."

With that she walked away.

"Can I shoot her?" Dean asked.

"Not in public." Sam said tightly.

"If you really want her to suffer, let me put a little somthin'sumthin' in her water." I said in a flat tone. We watched Bela walk away.

I sighed, and handed Sam my keys. "She's right though. You guys should get your car."

"Hey, why does he-"

"Because, Dean, you don't let me drive your car." I cut him off. "So you don't get to drive mine. I'd drive it myself, but neither of you two giants wouldn't fit in the backseat." Sam laughed a little bit and looked at Dean who was practically pouting.

I pushed open the creaky door and sighed as I walked in.

"Hey." I said breezily, leaning my hip on the counter. The middle-aged, balding man slowly looked up from his newspaper to look at me. And, if I don't say so myself, I was something to look at.

I'd ditched my t-shirt and hoodie and went with just a tight tank-top (that I usually slept in), and had it tugged down so the mildly lacy edges of my dark purple bra were viable, but bunched up enough so a sliver of skin was showing. My cargo jacket was hanging off one shoulder so you could see the top edges of my tattoo. I was in my tightest jeans and my boots, and had given my hair a good fluff before I came in.

"So, I borrowed my boyfriend's car to come down here and do a little shopping; our anniversaries coming up." I added the last part with a shy little smile, biting my lip at the end. "And, well, I-I think I parked in a loading zone or something?"

The man nodded, his eyes never leaving my chest or hips. "Uh…What-What's the car?" he asked, readying his fingers on the keyboard.

"A black 1967 Chevrolet Impala." I told him, eyeing the board behind him, the one with keys pinned to it.

After he typed a little, he nodded. "Yeah, yeah, uh, we have it." He said slowly, his eyes still on my cleavage.

"Great!" I said, hopping slightly in excitement. "So, do I have to pay a fine or something?" I asked, pulling my wallet out of my pocket.

"Well, the-the police have to search it first," the guy said. I don't think he's looked at my face once. "Can you come back in a few hours?"

I pouted, cocking my hip and jutting my lower lip out. "A few hours?"

"Yeah…It's law in the state, all impounded cars have to be searched before they're returned." He grunted out.

"Listen," I said, taking a deep breath before I leaned forward to rest my forearms on the counter between us, keeping my chest out. "I told you I was shopping for my anniversary? Well, what I bought isn't really…for the public eye." I explained slowly.

"Uh-huh." The guy said, eyes blatantly staring down my shirt.

"So…Do you think you could just let me pay the fine?" I asked, tilting my head down slightly and batting my eyelashes at him. He looked up at my face, finally, and swallowed before he started to nod.

"Yeah…Yeah…Yeah…" he said, turning to take the keys off the board and toss them on the counter before leaning under the counter. "You, uh, you have to sign a form…"

By the time he looked up, I was already out the door, keys in hand.

I grinned as I walked towards the boys, jangling the keys. Sam and Dean wore equally shocked looks. "How'd you do that?" Dean asked, walking towards me to grab the keys.

I shrugged, pulling my cargo jacket over my bare shoulder. "Sometimes a girl in a tight tank-top and jeans, beats shotguns and fake IDs." I said with a smirk. Dean chuckled and rolled his eyes, before walking over to the fence. This one, unlike the one in Janesville, was electric, but give Sam a pocket knife, ten minutes and the fuse box it wouldn't be electric anymore.

As Dean jumped the fence and ran towards his car, I opened the trunk of my Mustang and shed my jacket. I threw it in the trunk and dug around for something to pull over myself. I caught Sam watching me out of the corner of my eye. "What?" I asked, laughing a little as I looked at him, pulling a hoodie over my head.

Sam quickly looked away and shook his head. "Nothing."

Two Nights Later

I sighed and took a swig of my rum and coke. I was in the back of a bar with Sam's laptop.

There had been another death, and Sam and Dean were currently watching the brother, who was next. I didn't really want to spend all night in the backseat of a car, so I opted for research and Sam, after some convincing, let me take his laptop.

"Hey sweetie pie."

I gasped, choked on my drink and narrowly missed spitting it all over the laptop.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my sleeve and looked across the table at Zack.

"What the hell?" I asked him.

"Sorry," he chuckled, waving a waitress over. "I'll have a scotch, three fingers, no ice." He ordered with a wink.

"What do you want?" I snapped at him. "I'm busy."

"I know, I know," Zack sighed. "Dry-land drownings and ghost ships."

"Why are you here?" I sighed, rubbing my temples.

"Remember our deal?" Zack asked, giving the waitress a fifty for a ten dollar drink. "I tell you about problems I have, and you take your big book of spells and fix it?"

"Uh-huh." I said, looking back on my laptop.

"Well, I have a problem," Zack said, pausing to take a drink. "Several actually."

"Get in line." I said flatly. I yanked my fingers back when the laptop shut, narrowly missing my fingers. "Hey!"

"Look, there's eight of them, ok?" Zack said, his voice lower and whit time had a hit of panic in his voice. "I really screwed them a few decades ago, and with the boss gone, nothings stopping them from ripping me and my nice new home to shreds."

I blinked at him and leaned back in my seat.

"This is what I do; I make deals, I keep deals." Zack said slowly. "I need you to fix this, because if I do it myself it'll end with me on the run in a bloody Dolce & Gabbana suit and your little boyfriends chasing me."

I took a drink and sighed. "We're in the middle of a job now, ok?" I told him. "Once it's done, give me a location and I'll look into it, ok?" I asked.

"Thank you." Zack said honestly, then looked over his shoulder. "Next rounds on me." He said as he got up, downed the rest of his drink and tossed three hundreds on the table.

The next morning, back at the house Sam, Dean and I were, eh, borrowing, I was still researching. This time, with books. I had my feet up on the table, a heavy book about shipwrecks in my lap.

We all snapped our heads up to look at the door after a knock.

Dean opened the little peephole, and groaned as he opened the door. Sam took the safety off his gun.

I groaned, just like Dean had, when Bela came through the door.

"Are you actually squatting?" she asked, looking around the dusty, nearly empty house. "Charming."

"So, how'd things go last night with Peter?" She asked. I ground my teeth.

Peter didn't make it.

"That well, huh?" She asked with a slighty chuckle.

"Eat dirt and die." I sighed, flipping my page. "Oh, wait, you already ate dirt." I said innocently, looking up at her. She glared at me, Sam and Dean looked at me oddly, but I just kept smiling.

Bela quickly composed herself. "Look, the four of us should have a heart to heart."

"That's assuming you have a heart." Dean pointed out.

"Oh, she does." I assured him. "It's all black, cold and shriveled up."

"Nikki, please." She said, looking at me with some big sad-eyes. "I'm sorry about before."

"When you stole one of my most precious possessions, threatened to shoot me, shot my best friend, or had Dean's car towed?" I asked, snapping my book shut and looking up at her.

"To be fair," she started, holding a finger up. "I wouldn't have shot Sam if Dean and him hadn't tried to take the rabbits foot."

"It was theirs to begin with!" I half-yelled at her.

"I don't see why you're the one yelling," she said, putting on a pouty face and cocking a hip. "You stole my money."

"Oh! By the way, I wanted to thank you," I said with fake-sweet tone to my voice. "You know, since you paid for my gas for the last 900 miles." I batted my eyelashes at her. I could practically see the cartoon steam coming from her ears. I raised an eyebrow at her, and she pursed her lips, forcing the sour look off her face. I was a little let down; why go through the trouble of riling someone up if they're just going to brush it off?

She just looked away from me and put her bag on the table. "I come bearing gifts."

"Such as?" Sam asked doubtfully.

"I've IDed the ship." She told us, pulling a folder from her bag.

"It's the Espírito Santo, a merchant sailing vessel. Quite a colorful history." Bela said, putting a picture in front of us. "In 1859, a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard the ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was 37."

"Which explains the 37-year cycle." Sam put in, taking the picture.

"Aren't you a sharp tack?" Bela complimented, I saw Sam squirm slightly in his seat. "There's a photo of him somewhere…" Bela trailed off, searching through the file. "Here." She said, handing the picture to Dean.

"Is that the guy you say last night?" I asked, looking between Sam and Dean. They nodded.

"Yeah, that's him, except he was missing a hand." Dean said.

"His right hand." Bela added on.

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Dean asked her.

"The sailor's body was cremated, but not before they cut off his hand to make a Hand of Glory." Bela further explained.

"A Hand of Glory?" Dean asked. "Think I got one'a those at the end of my Thai massage last week." He said with a smirk. I just blinked at him, and scooted my chair away from him.

"A Hand of Glory is the right hand of a hanged man is a serious occult object." I said, not looking at Dean. "It's a powerful object."

"A+." Bela said condescendingly, smiling at me.

"Don't be a smartass." I said calmly, not even looking up at her.

"Well, counts as remains, right?" Dean asked, shrugging slightly.

"Yeah, but it doesn't explain why the ghost is choosing these victims." Sam pointed out.

"I'll explain to you why; who cares?" Bela said flatly. "Find the hand, burn it, and stop the bloody thing." She said slowly.

"I don't get it. Why are you telling us all of this?" Dean asked.

"Because I know exactly where the hand is." Bela said with a smile.

"Where?" I asked.

"At the Sea Pines Museum. It's a macabre bit of maritime history." Bela told him with a smartass smile. "But, I need a little help."

"What kind of help?" Sam asked skeptically.

She smiled, then looked at me.

"Nikki, darling…what's your dress size?"