You belong with Me.
Disclaimer: I do not own supernatural, or its characters.
"Uh Hum...." Dean stopped shoveling the heavy packed dirt from the grave he was digging up and slowly looked up warily. How was he going to explain why it was two o'clock in the morning and he was digging up a centuries old grave with a can of salt and lighter fluid next to him. She was leaning over the grave stone which was about three feet high, with her chin propped up in her hands. Her long mahogany brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, and she had dark eyes, but it was to dark to tell if they were brown or green. She was smiling. That's odd?, he thought. Why is she smiling?
"Uhhh...I'm uhhh." Dean just trailed off not really knowing how to explain what he was doing, wishing Sam was here to think of an excuse, but Sam was off trying to get the people that the psycho ghost killer was after out of their haunted house.
"Your digging up the wrong grave." she said with a smirk, which was so cocky Dean would have laughed if it wasn't directed at him.
Standing up to his full height, with his hand still on the shovel that was sticking out of the ground he replied, "Excuse me?"
"I said," she was speaking at him really slowly like he was a dumb child, "Your...Digging....Up...The....Wrong....Grave."
"How the hell would you know lady?" he snicked back, getting pissed that she was talking to him like an idiot.
"Well, I'm guessing that since the head stone says, Dale Whitiker, you think your digging up Dale Whitiker, but if your trying to salt and burn that bastard, your too late, I already did it, and besides, if you did your research, you would know Dale isn't buried there." she pointed at the grave while straightening up and putting her hands on her hips.
She was short, five three maybe, and slender. She had a black motorcycle jacket on, old faded jeans and black biker boots that were caked in mud. She walked around the head stone towards Dean, and he immediately picked up the shovel and held it out like a weapon.
"Are you scared of me?" she asked with a grin. That smile looked familiar.
Rolling her eyes, she asked "Do I look like a damn demon to you, for crying out loud, you have really gotten suspicious." Her eyes turned serious at that. "You need some fun in your life, hunting is getting to you." Sighing, she turned and walked back to the head stone and leaned against it in a manner that spoke of comfort in a graveyard. "I really thought John taught you boys to do your research better than that. Well, IF you guys had done your research you would know that the old caretaker's daughter was a victim of Dale's. You also would have known that Dale's crazy wife was still madly in love with him and came to visit his grave everyday after he was hung. So, Charlie couldn't stand seeing her cry over the grave of the man who killed his daughter in cold blood, so he switched out the graves of his daughter and Dales so the crazy bitch would be crying over his daughters body. He got a little revenge every time he saw her there, prostrate over his daughters grave. "
"How the hell do you know that?" Dean asked, knowing that the story was true cause really, how bizarre was it and it sounded like something he would do.
"I read his diary. It was at the Clarkville Towne Museum. I just pretended to be a writer writing an article on cemeteries, and viola, access to the items having to do with this cemetery. It is really cool, I mean its not St. Louis Cemetery Number 6 but still. I like its old world charm. The little fences around the graves, the ornate head stones. Feels like your back in time, don't ya think?"
"Who are you?" he asked squinting his eyes, and leaning forward to get a better look at her. She looked familiar but not quite.
Just then Deans phone rang. He pulled it out of his faded blue jeans after wiping the mud off his hands. "Yeah?" after listening a minute, he asked, "Are you sure? Okay then, I'll be there in a minute." Sam had just confirmed that the ghost was "dead". Flipping the phone closed he sighed.
Looking up he noticed the girl walking away, "Hey who are you!" he yelled at her retreating form.
"Bye Dean, tell Sam I said hi!" she cackled and kept on walking.
Running to catch up to her he grabbed her ruffly by the shoulder, she grabbed his hand and flipped him over her shoulder just like in the movies. Dean landed on his back in the wet grass with a thud, knocking all the air out of him. She dropped down to her knees and leaned across him, her hair falling over them like a curtain. Looking in her eyes Dean could see they were green. Dark green with black around the iris. Gasping for air he tried to pull her off him, but she had the upper hand since she could still breathe. She ran her hand down is right thigh, burning a trail right through his jeans, making him groan and start to get hard.
Damn his body, thought Dean.
"Now now Dean, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me." she asked smiling with her eyes.
"Both." he grunted. She got up and gracefully loped across the grass to a large black truck. It had huge wheels and sat at least three or four feet off the ground and had a bone white skull painted on the hood, with flames down the king cab sides. She hopped in and started the engine, Dean started after her, but she was half way down the road when he got to the edge of the road. She stopped, and he could see her in the red light of the brake lights. She rolled down her window and threw something into the woods. She looked out the window back at him, and yelled "have a nice night!" and waved like they were old friends.
Wondering what she threw out the window, Dean reached into his right jean pocket to retrieve his keys. With a sinking feeling he fished around in them some more. Growling, he pulled the pocket wrong side out. He half halfheartedly reached into his left pocket knowing that the keys were not there.
"Well, I don't have to wonder what she threw into the woods anymore." he muttered under his breath.
Sighing, he reached into his coat pocket for his phone, going to call Sam for help in the search for his keys. "That BITCH!" She had gotten his phone too. Hearing a rumbling sound he looked up into the starless sky and blinked as rain hit him in the eye. "Sonofabitch." The rain was coming in torrents, and he had to make a decision, walk the two and half miles back to the hotel in the downpour, to get the spare keys or search for them in the dark, in the woods, in the rain. Looking around, in a quandary, he shrugged it wasn't much of a decision. He started walking down the road towards the hotel, sighing, he muttered, "I'm gonna kill her, I'm gonna find her, figure out who the hell she is and then I'm gonna kill her."