Supernatural Fic

[serafina20]

"I'm telling you, that one's not going to work," Rachel said, pushing aside the beat-up journal Sam was trying to hand her.

"It worked just fine on the possessed pilot Dean and I took down." Sam tripped on a broken headstone and cursed.

Rachel grabbed his arm so he didn't fall. "Yeah, but that was a demon. This is a human agent. The same ritual just doesn't work." She let his arm go and hitched her bag over her shoulder. "But I know what to do."

"You sure?" asked Dean. "Because I'm sure you thought you knew what you were doing back at the inn, too."

"I'm sure. I've done the research. The research never lies," she added with wide eyes and a fake whispery voice.

That got a smile out of Dean, who masked it by turning to look at the gravestone they were passing. "Does any of this look familiar too you? 'Cause I think Rachel's leading us in the wrong direction."

"We're going the right way, Dean," Sam answered. "Remember, we passed that plot when we came earlier to set up." He pointed.

"Oh, yeah. The one that looks like a bunny. See it Rachel? Does it make you feel safe?"

She punched his arm. "I'm beginning to see why you've never had a girlfriend."

"I've had a girlfriend."

"Uh huh. And, by any chance, was her name Betty Blow-up Doll?"

"I'm shocked that an innocent girl like you knows about those kinda things," Dean said. "Is there something you aren't telling us?"

Rachel opened her mouth to make a retort and found she couldn't. Instead, she blushed, closed her mouth, and looked away. "Um, looks like Andrew is up for the night," she said, pointing to a cove of trees.

The ghost was standing between the trees, glaring at his grave not far away. The ice pick was in his hand, and his eyes were aflame. All around him and his photograph was a blessed circle of black salt, cloves, and elder. He was pacing the circle, trying to get out, snarling when he couldn't.

Rachel's steps faltered, heart squeezing painfully.

A hand rested on her shoulder. "You don't have to do this, you know," Dean said softly. "No shame."

"No, I'm fine." She looked up at him and managed a smile. "Seriously, I can do this. You dig, I chant. We finish this thing off."

"And then go for ice cream," Sam said. When Dean and Rachel both looked at him, he just shrugged and said, "I always felt that going out for ice cream should have been an essential part of hunting growing up. Ice cream's good."

Tension broken, Rachel laughed and approached the ghost. "Do you want me to help you dig for a bit?" she asked, setting down her backpack.

"Set up first," Sam said as he and Dean sank their shovels into the hard packed earth over Andrew Winston's grave. "Then we'll see."

She nodded. Kneeling, she placed her flashlight on the ground and opened her backpack. Despite having the ritual she needed memorized, she'd written it down over dinner, just in case. After all, she needed to prove to herself that she could do this, that she was good enough to do the job she'd been raised to do. And, yes, she wanted to impress Dean and Sam, but that was secondary to not wanting to be killed and actually sending the ghost out of her world and into the next.

Carefully, she took a bowl from the backpack and wiped any residual dust from it. Next, the holy water came out. She unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured it into the bowl.

"What are you doing, Victoria?" a low, anger-filled voice asked.

Rachel's hand shook, spilling some water outside the bowl. She took a deep breath to steady her hand.

"I said, what are you doing, girl?" The ghost was louder now.

She glanced up. "I'm not Victoria," she told it, even though she knew that the ghost wouldn't care. "Victoria is dead."

He snorted. "Doesn't matter who you are. All of you are nothing but lying whores who promise men the world but only put out for the one with the money."

"You okay, Rachel?" Sam knelt next to her and took the bottle of holy water from her frozen hands.

"Yeah," she said distractedly, staring at the ghost's eyes. She felt trapped, pinned to the ground by those poisons orbs.

"Rachel, look at me, okay? Rachel?"

He put his hand on her cheek and ran his calloused thumb down her jaw line.

The contact startled her, releasing her from the ghost's angry eyes. She blinked and shook her head, trying to get him out of her head. "Sorry." She looked at Sam. "I just... God, he's not even a demon."

"No, but ghosts are pretty frightening anyway." He glanced at the bowl. "What else do you need to do?"

"Um...the garlic and salt mixture goes in the water." She took out another bowl. "In this one goes the mixture in that baggie."

Sam snorted, taking it out and dumping it into the other bowl. "I really hope we don't get caught. It looks like you're doing drugs."

"Try and smoke this, and the high is all in your head," she said, smiling. A teaspoon of garlic and salt went into the holy water. She mixed it until the salt had dissolved, then rose. "I'm just going to check." Dipping her fingers into the water, Rachel stepped to the edge of the blessed circle.

"That's right, Victoria. Come closer. Come and sit with me like you used to," the ghost coaxed.

She refused to look at him, not wanting to get ensnared in his gaze again. Soaking her fingers until they were dripping wet, she lifted them out and flicked the water at the ghost.

The blessed water landed on the ghost's face and sank through him to the picture. He howled in pain and leapt at her.

"Ah!" Rachel gasped, jerking away.

Sam caught her before she fell. "He's going to do that, you know."

"I know. I'm fine." Cheeks burning, she placed the bowl on the ground and turned around. "Let's dig."

It took almost an hour to dig up Andrew's coffin. And hour of digging and of listening to the ghost alternately taunting and pleading with Victoria. He promised to love her, threatened to kill her, and the more Rachel ignored him, the more violently explicit he got. Rachel probably would have finally capitulated and gone back to the car had not the Winchester brothers kept her distracted by regaling her with tales of their past hunts and entertaining her with their constant bantering insults. By the time the coffin finally appeared beneath their shovels, the ghost had become nothing but background noise, completely eclipsed by the Sam and Dean Show.

"All right," Dean said, brushing dirt off his hands. "Let's burn this mother. I am so sick of listening to him."

Rachel bumped into him with his shoulder. "At least he's not threatening to kill you."

"Dude, he probably thinks I'm John."

"I'm sure Victoria had better taste than that," Rachel assured him.

"You little..." In lieu of finishing the thought, Dean lifted Rachel from the ground and gently tossed her in the direction of the ghost. "Get to chanting and exorcising. Will it take long?"

"Five, ten minutes," she said, finding her balance. "How long will it take for the bones to burn?"

"Ghosts lose power once the bones have caught fire," Sam said. "It'll only take a minute or two. Maybe five." He pulled lighter fluid out of his bag and tossed it to Dean. "Go ahead and get started, Rachel. We'll light up the bones."

Rachel nodded nervously and turned back to the ghost.

"It's too late, Victoria. You've been defiled. You've played the whore in his bed every night like the wanton you are."

Rachel knelt in front of the circle and picked the bowl of holy water back up. "You're not a whore if you're married," she couldn't help saying.

"Please. Legalized prostitution, that's all marriage is," the ghost spat. "All women are whores, it says so in the Bible. Women are responsible for all sin. Eve ate the apple and condemned man to a life of suffering."

"Adam could have said no." Rachel smiled sweetly at the ghost. Then, taking a deep breath, Rachel started to chant, "By the virtue of the holy resurrection, and the torments of the damned, I conjure and exorcise thee, Spirit of Andrew Winston, deceased, and bid thee part." She dipped her fingers into the water and tossed the drops on the ghost.

As the ghost screamed and cursed at her, Rachel slowly walked around the circle of salt. She repeated the chant three times, tossing water on the ghost as she circled him.

"It's working," Sam said when she returned to her starting position. He pointed; in the picture, Andrew's image was bubbling and burning as if it'd been lit on fire. The rest of the photograph, though, was perfectly normal. "Keep going."

Rachel set the first bowl and picked up the second. This one was filled with peppermint, garlic, cloves, thistle, and sage. Rachel took a matchbook from her pocket. Striking a match, she lit the mixture on fire and stood.

"Your soul, once trapped, now set free," she said, once again circling the ghost. She waved her hand over the bowl, blowing the smoke towards him. "I bid thee part. I consecrate this picture, leave none of your anger trapped. Your soul is free, I bid thee..." She broke off, coughing as a gust of wind blew the smoke into her face.

"Rachel!" she heard Sam shout.

She was barely able to toss the bowl aside before the ghost, freed of his circle by the wind, was on her.

"Whore!" he screamed, trying to stab her with the ice pick. "Slut! You belonged to me! You were mine and you betrayed me!"

He was like a hurricane, a gale wind coming so fast there was no way to stop him. All Rachel could do was cover her face and ears and ride it out. Her heart thundered in her ears as she twisted underneath the too solid form, bearing his attack and hoping that Sam was finishing the exorcism.

"I bid thee depart!" Sam shouted.

The ghost screeched suddenly. He arched off Rachel, eyes wide, mouth open. A long, loud howl keened from him as he burst into flame. His molted greyness of before caught the glow of fire, turning him orange.

His eyes squeezed shut and he howled again. This time, as he screamed, green-gray mist flew from his mouth. Before Rachel's eyes, the captured soul of Andrew Winston disintegrated into nothingness.