Rule #7: Everything comes with a price.

The attack from Dolores wasn't harmless after all. My dodge caused the blade to slide right into Sam's abdomen.

"No! Sam, you'll be fine. Not again..."

"Get...'em...go-ow" he motions.

I bolt after her, catching right up outside the library. Not caring about audience, I launch myself at her.

"Ahh! Get off of me! What is going on, young lady!" She yells, arms flailing like she's trying to fly away.

"You are under arrest for attempted murder of a federal agent. You-"

"Mum?" A young man asks. "Are you okay? Excuse me, who are you? And why are you straddling my mother?"

"Special Agent Winchester. Your mother stabbed my partner with a letter opener."

"I-I did no such thing," Dolores protests.

"FBI?" The young man wonders at the same time.

"I'd appreciate if you wouldn't li-" my phone interrupts me.

"Dean, not now," I say into my flip phone, "what do you want?"

"Two words. Vengeful. Spirit. Y'know, this spirit must've had a bad century since it's possessing people. I went to Delaney's house, asked his wife about strange cases. Did I tell you she keeps the local archives neat and tidy?"

"Get to the point, Win—Padalecki," I quip, letting a long sigh loose, knowing I almost slipped.

"Careful, Ems. Anyways, a guy called Ed Carmichael, snapped in 1973, killed, like, half the town. He claimed a trial, but hanged himself an hour before."

"Okay? How do we know it's him, er, his ghost that's using people as Halloween costumes?"

*Meanwhile in the police station*

The man was obviously agitated in his cell. Why did he have to puke on that cop?

As he fumbled with his fingers, he became aware of a sudden temperature change. The ceiling lights began to swing and flicker.

He looked up and gave the lights a drunken look before flipping them off. Probably the last thing that man registered in his sorry excuse for a life, is a cold, black entity taking over his body.

"Hey, mister. Are you okay? Hey?"

The man looked dead. The officer who heard a strange scream rushed up to his cell. All the color has been drained out of the man, so the officer panicked.

He opened the cell door.

***

"Can you excuse me?" Dolores asks, her voice is raised slightly by frustration. Realizing I was still on top of her, I let go of her cardigan, and after placing my phone in my pocket, I awkwardly stand up. I can't exactly arrest her for something I knew she herself didn't do.

"Ugh. Possession," I mumble to myself. "I-I'm sorry."

***

"Dean."

"How's Sam?"

"In the hospital. He had some serious internal bleeding, but he's gonna be fine. Look, Dean, I'm sorry." He sets his gaze on my chocolate eyes, tilting his head, "for letting this happen. I screwed up, big time. Sam...he saved me."

"It wasn't your fault." His voice is firm, filled with a familial emotion in his eyes. Never thought I'd see that again.

"Let's go get this son of a bitch," I say as a battle cry, getting a smirk from the older Winchester.

By the time we arrive at the local cemetery, the sun was setting. We do another round of rock-paper-scissors and after another loss on the side of Dean, he starts digging the grave.

"Would you mind helping me, Richards? We don't have all day, remember?"

"B-but you...how come you get to do that to me? Last time I lost a round I had to dig up the whole fucking grave, while you stood there eating popcorn," I begin angrily. "But then again, Sam wasn't hurt and the case was so easy."

I don't have an idea why I was reasoning with myself. And because of that reason, I get a shovel and begin digging.

"Bingo. Burn, you motherfluffer!" I let out a sigh the moment my fingers lose contact with the matchbox.

A feeling of pride washes over me, though I can't shake the thought that this was all too easy.

"What are you thinking?" Dean's emerald eyes hold mine, trying to read my thoughts.

"I don't know. I feel like this was way too easy."

"Oh, so the same thing I am. But, it seems like we got an easy one. C'mon, let's go see Sammy." We stroll over to the Impala, taking one of the quietest rides ever.

***

A nurse kindly leads us to room 314 where Sam is frowning at a shady-looking meal.

"How are you, Sammy? Well, stupid question. Though, the hospital probably takes better care of you than I could ever," I say softly, letting the weight of my hand fall on his.

"No hospital is as good as your care, Em," he smiles. "And I feel great, now that you're here."

"Sam..." I warn playfully.

"What?" The way his innocent tone and those eyes...stop it, Richards. You are not doing this to Sammy.

"Where's Dean?"

"He's got better things to do than be with you, his only little bro...what do you think? He's just down the hall getting coffee. And FYI, don't eat that food; it looks like...sadness," I say, making him chuckle slightly which ends him in a coughing fit.

"Emily Richards, I think you're bad for my health," Sam jokes, holding onto my hand. Go away, butterflies.

"Sammy," Dean walks in, holding two cups of steamy liquids. He hands me one of them and gestures me to move over; it is now his turn with Sam.

"Dean, hey," Sam smiles, gently placing his weakened hand on Dean's rough leather jacket.

"It's done, Sammy. Mr. Vengeful Spirit took a long, long vacation. You'll be fine," Dean says. What the hell, Winchester?!

Sam shoots me a quizzical look, wondering the same thing. Dean never, ever talked to Sam like that. Even when he was little. Or to anyone.

"O-okay then...I'm glad it's over. Let's leave."

I rise up from my chair and head towards the door when my phone rings. "Hello?"

"Agent Winchester Help... police...under...attack...ugh...now—"

"What the...Dean, we have to go to the station right now! They're under attack," I say, my heart picking up pace.

"Why? And by who?"

"Don't know, but we have to leave. Pronto. Sam we'll be back," I click my tongue, giving him the thumbs up while loping out of the room, dragging a confused Dean Winchester behind.

When we arrive at the police station, chaos and that something bad went down here was evident.

I'm not sure what's going on until I see all the lights around flicker. No way...

"I thought—" I begin.

"Yeah, me too," Dean replies.

"Why can't anything be easy? It's always suicide mission this, deadly danger that...no supernatural beings just stops by to only say hi anymore," I sigh, taking the safety off of my gun.

We walk through the leftovers of the glass entrance door, the glass creaking under my boots. Other than the remains of an explosion and the thick smell of smoke, the place is eerie quiet.

"Hello?" Dean's deep husky voice rings throughout the dimly lit ex-police station.

A guy in an officer's uniform, the rookie we met at the lumber company, crawls up to us, his mouth caked with his blood. Kneeling down to his level, I can make out that he's badly hurt, basically bleeding out.

At the touch of my hand on his face, his tears let loose as he begins to sob. "Hey, it's okay. What happened?" I whisper gently. Even though I'm focused on Rookie's face, I can feel his heart pounding and hear shuffles and Dean explores the ruins.

"They, uh, came...lots of 'em. First one...a guy came out of the cell, his eyes...were black. Completely. then...Black smoke...first we, ugha, though it was a storm but the smoke...oh god, the black smoke! It spoke. It wanted the—You probably think I'm crazy," he sighed and shut his eyes for a moment too long.

Dean's worried eyes met mine. Demons. But, what about the vengeful spirit? We would've known if it were demons who killed those people.

Dean kneels down beside me, slightly slapping the poor rookie. "Hey, we need you awake. What did the demo—what did the black smoke want? Rookie?"

"Some...something...the Winchesters. But we don't have those guns here," he shut his eyes again. "Hey, buddy, don't sleep! What else? Hey?" Dean shook him again, but it was for nothing.

The Officer Rookie had taken his final breath as he looked in my eyes one more time. And then he died.