A Life Worth Falling For (A SWL FanFic) Chapter 6.

Chapter Six: Love and Loss

"Guy named Evan Sanchez called," Dean informed once everyone had gathered in the console room. "old friend of Bobby's, I guess. Says he keeps seeing his wife who bit the dust 'bout three years back."

"Sounds like a simple salt and burn," Sam replied, crossing his arms as the Doctor slowly nodded.

"Yeah, well, here's the catch: Caspar the Friendly Ghost knocks on this guy's door, comes inside, and holds up a conversation. Not only that, he can feel her, like she's alive. Even has a heartbeat."

"I doubt it's a spirt or ghost of any kind, then," I intervened. "however, it must be a creature who has seen his wife before-"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. We, the hunters, know what we're doing. Unlike you, an angel who's been sitting on her-"

"Dean," Sam started. "consider the possibilities. What if she's right? Im not saying you aren't, but, I mean, she was the Angel of Logic."

"Angel of Logic this, Angel of Logic that, I get it. But here's the key word: was," Dean shot back, leaving me feeling a little more than slightly uncomfortable. "If this thing isn't a spirt or some branch off of one, then we'll do what we gotta do, just like always, alright?"

John cleared his throat. "Doctor, you know where we're headed to?"

"Yes, the TARDIS has traced the call," the Time Lord declared, pulling down a last lever.

"Here we go again," Sherlock sighed.

~Brentwood, New Hampshire~

Upon opening the door, we were greeted with the scent of spring. I glanced about the small neighborhood, surrounded in trees, sun shining through their vibrant green leaves. Once everyone had left the TARDIS, we began walking towards our destination. It was a calm and quiet walk until Dean noticed me, then stood in my path.

"Why aren't you back in the TARDIS?" he asked, practically growling.

"Why would I be?" I asked.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You're not here to hunt with us, you're here to-"

"Dean," Sam interrupted. "chill out. Just because she's helping us with one case, doesnt mean shes useless. Shes actually not that bad of a fighter, and a simple case like this one might be a good warm-up."

"What if she messes up, Sam? Huh?"

"Shes learning, or relearning, or whatever like we did, Dean!"

"You're talkin' like she's stayin'," Dean crossed his arms. "not only that, you're getting all sentimental about this girl, or angel, or whatever for nothin.'"

"Dean, lets talk about this later. We have a case to work on," Castiel called from a porch, to my luck. Without another word, Dean left.

"Im sorry about my brother. He'll get better once he's used to you, he's just... uneasy around strangers," Sam said, as we began walking towards the house of interest.

"Thank you. Its alright, I understand," I replied. Sam grinned for a fraction of a second, then stuffed his hands back in his pockets. It wasnt until we had reached the porch when anyone began talking again.

"Shouldn't some of us be better off staying in the TARDIS? This guy might not be comfortable with five strangers in his house, excluding Sam and Dean," John said before anyone had knocked on the door.

"No," Sherlock deadpanned.

"Reason being...?"

"Because Mr. Sanchez has already heard us talking and shuffling our feet across his porch. Considering we havent knocked, he has become impatient and anxious, resulting in-"

"Hey boys... and girl; what can I do for ya?" A man no other than Evan Sanchez answered the door, causing us to turn around.

"Right on time," Sherlock breathed.

"Evan Sanchez, right?" Sam questioned.

"Who's asking?" the man asked.

"Me, the same guy who picked up the phone and took the case, regarding your... uh, sprit sightings of sorts," Dean answered, stepping forward.

"Ah, Dean, is it?" The man shook Dean's hand. "Thanks for comin'. Bobby told me to call if somethin' weird came up. Shame to hear he passed; he was a great fella."

Dean nodded, obviously wanting to get off the subject. "Yeah. You a hunter, too?"

"No, no. I knew Bobby was along with a few others, but I was never cut out to be one. I met him back way back in high school. We reconnected with each a couple years back when I bumped into him in Tennessee, while on vacation. Of all the places," he laughed and shook his head. "So I understand you and your lil' brother Sam are hunters too, but uh... who are your friends?"

"Oh, right. It's our..."

"Team," Sam finished for Dean. "Castiel, the Doctor-"

"Just the Doctor, please," the Time Lord added.

"-Sherlock, John, and Hanna."

"Damn, that's a lot of people," Mr. Sanchez remarked.

"Yes, but it's also helpful as long as everyone's on the same page," Castiel countered.

"Alright. Team's a team. Anyways, come in."

On the exterior, the house looked older, but the interior was rather the complete opposite. We didn't have enough time to look around in more detail, seeing as we were being ushered into the kitchen, but it was quite the overhaul. Dark, glazed wooden planks made up the floor, along with matching tables and chairs. Red couches surrounding a fireplace and the flat screen television above it took up most of the space, along with a staircase behind them. Cream colored walls complimented each feature in the room well enough.

While grabbing a few extra chairs, Mr Sanchez said, "This is where I usually see her. I'll be eating up here, and she'll walk in, have a seat, and we'll talk."

"Weren't you shocked?" Sam asked, taking out a notepad and a pen.

"Well, sure, at first. I mean, who in their right mind wouldn't be? In the end, though... who in their right mind would want to let an opportunity like this pass them up? A second chance?" Mr. Sanchez replied.

Sam and Dean shifted uncomfortably. The Doctor cleared his throat, then asked, "She isnt, by any chance, completely white, was she?"

"Oh God, that was six years ago! They weren't even ghosts!" Sherlock exclaimed, as I flinched at the sound of him using my Father's name in vain.

"Im just taking precautions," the Doctor calmly retorted.

"No, she looks exactly like any other alive human being," Evan said, as Dean nodded.

"And you usually see her when you eat?" Castiel questioned.

"I told you guys all of this," Dean replied.

"More precautions," I spoke up, only to fall under Dean's disapproving stare.

"Right," Evan confirmed, sighing.

"Was your wife cremated?" Sam asked.

"...Yeah. Why?"

"Trust me, it matters."

"Is there a certain pattern to her visits? Certain days, weeks, months?" John asked.

"Well, its only been goin' on for a month or three. As for any other patterns... nah. I see her at least... hmm... four times a week? Sometimes even twice on the same day."

As he was writing information down, Sam asked, "When was the last time you saw her?"

"This morning at approximately eight-thirty Eastern Standard Time for breakfast. The crumbs of toast left on this table spread from where Mr. Sanchez sits to the opposite side of the table. Unless he eats laying across the table during one half of breakfast and in his seat for another half, which is of course, highly improbable, then his... wife, Priscilla, was here," Sherlock looked up and off the table at Evan. "Oh, it's simple. I know her name because you left your... memory book open on the coffee table."

"But how-"

"Dont ask," the Doctor said.

"Mr. Sanchez, if you are happy with this second chance, why did you call us?"

The man in questioning sighed. "Well, I read up on some stuff because, well, Priscilla..." he lowered his voice. "seemed a little off. I came across a piece of information stating that ghosts arent ever really at peace until they are in whatever the afterlife may be. I mean, she seems happy for the most part, but... y'know. I love her, and I want her to be happy. Not uncomfortable. I rather not mention it to her, though. She would convince me to let her stay and I would oblige, and then she might turn out to be one of those nasty ghosts. Angry ones."

Sherlock said something under his breath along the lines of, "For someone who was friends with hunters, you are incredibly oblivious."

"So, mind lettin' us look around?" Dean sighed, standing up when no one else spoke.

"Wait," I began, right when something came to mind. "I have one last question. Was your wife, by any chance, any different appearance wise? Different clothes, makeup, or lack of?"

Mr. Sanchez cocked an eyebrow, then said, "No, I don't thi- wait. There is one thing." Castiel tilted his head, John and Sherlock stared intently, and the Doctor's eyes widened with a look that craved for answers. Sam looked up from his notepad, and Dean turned around, gaze questioning.

"What might that be?" the Doctor asked.

"A heart-shaped necklace. Gave it to her on our wedding day; it's upstairs. Go ahead and look around, if you want."

"Thank you," I finished, then started up the stairs.

Whilst walking up the stairs, Sam finished up writing, and said, "That was a good piece of information, Hanna. Thanks for speaking up."

I looked back at him and replied, "Oh, yes. I just thought it might help. You never know."

"Have you ever interrogated someone before?"

"No, I've only observed and been apart of one."

"Wow. You definitely did better than Cas on his first time," Sam said, trying not to laugh, while Castiel shot him a glare.

"I tried my best," Castiel mumbled.

Dean swung an arm over his shoulder and smiled, "Cmon, y'know he's just messin' with you, sweetheart." Sam still managed to not burst out laughing; however, he did turn around and cover his mouth with one giant hand. Before long, Sherlock strode back into the hall we stood in from Mr. Sanchez's bedroom to which he (hesitantly) lent us for searching. From the detective's hand
the necklace dangled.

"While you four were busy fooling around, we went and found this," he said. The Doctor took it out of his hands, and abruptly licked it.

"Silver," the Gallifreyan said, putting it back in a disgusted Sherlock's hand, who then put it around John's neck.

"So, what are we going to do with it? Is it even important to the case?" the blogger asked, cleaning the saliva off the pendant with his shirt.

"Of course it is, John," Sherlock replied. "It's obviously important to Mr. Sanchez and... possibly his wife. It is, however, questionable to why her ghost is not wearing it. Fortunately for us, because Mrs. Sanchez, Priscilla, whatever you prefer to call her is cremated, and we don't have to pry this necklace off of her, we can conveniently destroy it and get on with our lives."

"I don't think that Evan would be happy with us if we were to take this necklace out of his house and break it," The Doctor countered.

Dean shrugged. "We do what we gotta do, right?"

The Doctor sighed and mumbled something to himself, then proceeded downstairs.

"Guy needs to grow a pair of balls," Dean said.

"No, I think he's dealt with a lot of violence in his days. Lost a lot of friends," John started for the stairs.

"Yeah, haven't we all?" came Dean's reply underneath his breath.

After retreating downstairs and saying goodbye to Mr. Evan Sanchez, along with telling him to call us if we are ever needed again, we made our way outdoors on the pavement right outside of the TARDIS door.

"So this is it, right? We destroy the necklace, then we're off on another case?" Sam asked.

"Looks like it," Dean said, throwing the necklace to the ground. "just thank God we're actually getting a break for once with this one."

"I'm confused," I said, staring at the necklace. "If the necklace really was her most prized possession, why didn't she wear it? Why can she still wear clothes, but not that?"

"Sprits of any kind that haven't moved on to Heaven or Hell and stay on Earth wear what they wore at their time of death. Perhaps she wasn't wearing her necklace," Cas replied.

"That, along with it being difficult to move physical objects when you're a ghost, so I'm told," John added.

"Oh, alright," I replied, watching intently as Dean smashed the necklace with the heel of his foot, breaking it into multiple pieces, as well as taking a match out and melting the remains.

"Lunch, then?" The Doctor asked.

"Im up for some Chicago pizza," Dean said, then walked inside the time machine.

~.~

It didn't take long for us to find a pizza place, get our food, and start up a conversation.

"And then-" Sam paused, laughing while trying to swallow his food. "Dean's like, 'I think this is all a misunderstanding!'"

The men surrounding me bursted into laughter at Sam's story, while I sat and smiled. Looking down, I stared at my untouched food: a Meat Lover's pizza suggested by Dean, and a creme soda suggested by the Doctor.

"Arent you hungry?" Sam asked, nudging my elbow. I lifted my head to look back at him.

"Yes, Ive just... never tried it before."

"So what're you going to do, stare at it? Don't knock it til yah try it," Dean said.

"Yes, of course... I just have never tried pizza," I said, picking up the piece by the crust, as I was told to do so.

A very audible gasp came from Dean. "Youve been alive for what, centuries? And youve never had pizza?!"

"I-"

"Never had an oppurnity. None of us did in Heaven. We didnt eat anyways, apart from Gabriel and his candy," Castiel finished for me, while I nodded in agreement. Just as I was about to take my first bite, one of Sam's many cell phones rang, much to our surprise. The Doctor whipped out his sonic and scanned the phone as Sam answered, mouthing, "Evan" to the rest of us.

"Hi, Mr. Sanchez?" Sam greeted, confusion evident in his voice. Before long, his eyes widened. "We'll be right over." The Winchester clicked off the phone, then aburptly stood up. "His wife is there, then he yelled, and his phone hit the floor. Broke."

"How? How is she-" John started, only to be cut off by the Doctor.

"We're wasting time!" he cried, then ran towards the TARDIS. Automatically, Sherlock, John, Castiel, and Sam began running after the Time Lord.

Dean looked down sorrowfully at his food, took one last, huge bite, and quickly ushered me up. "C'mon, lets go!"

We had made it back to the house at about a minute after Sam had hung up. Not bothering to knock, Sherlock kicked down the door. Had I any idea before the detective revealed what lie ahead, I would've better prepared myself. Ahead of us lie Mr. Sanchez, panic evident in his eyes, tied to a wooden chair. Bound were his hands, feet, stomach, along with duct tape around his mouth. Without a thought, The Doctor walked towards the man, only to be tackled by a skinny, yet surprisingly strong, pale woman with long, dark brown hair: Priscilla. The Time Lord grunted, then placed his hands on her wrists, her hands pinning him down, and pulled them off of his chest with a strained shout. He scrambled away, then took out his sonic.

"Get down!" Sam yelled, pulling out his shotgun. Not a second later, John and Dean had theirs out as well, taking aim and firing. With each hit the shells exploded, a substance that looked like rock salt leaking out from each one. Priscilla whipped around, visibly angry.

"What the hell?" Dean yelled, still shooting. The woman walked closer to the Winchester, yanked the gun out of his hands, and aimed it at his eye. Before she could pull the trigger, Dean ducked and Castiel came up from behind her and hit her with the butt of his gun, knocking her to the floor at Sherlock's and my feet. Priscilla let out an angry, inhuman scream as her eyes flashed white. I hurriedly backed away, while the consulting detective glared at the struggling... creature on the floor.

"Shapeshifter! Shes a shapeshifter!" Sherlock yelled.

"NO!" The monster wailed, getting up to throw a punch a Sherlock, hitting him square in the jaw with a crunch.

"Sherlock!" John called.

"Hanna, quit standing there! Go find something silver!" Dean spat, trying to fight off  'Priscilla', who was now attacking John.

"We don't have anything? Blades, bullets?" Sam shouted over the madness.

"No!" Cas replied.

"GO!" Dean yelled once more at me. I glanced at the creature attacking John, only to find it glaring at me. Without another thought, I ran into the nearest room, the shapeshifter right behind me. I slammed the kitchen door shut and locked it for good measure, though I doubted it would hold. Ignoring the booming pounding and the frustrated shouts of the men most likely trying to pry the thing off the door, I searched around for...

"Hanna, quit standing there! Go find something silver!"

Silver. Commonly found inside houses in kitchens, jewelry boxes, and display cabinets.

I looked around, only to confirm that I was, in fact, in the kitchen. Acting quickly, seeing as cracks were beginning to form in the wood of the door, I rushed about the room.

Silver in kitchens: doorknobs, steak knives, silverware itself...

Well obviously, the men outside want to kill the Priscilla doppelgänger, and at this point, it seems we hardly have a choice.

"HANNA!" John yelled, only to be followed by another savage snarl from the monster. I ran to a nearby knife holder and pulled out one of the makeshift weapons. As if on que, when I went to open the door, it broke and in tumbled the shapeshifter. Dean and Sherlock jumped  into action, the Winchester pining down it's wrists and the detective holding its ankles. Before Dean could finish yelling "Now!", century-old instincts kicked in me, and in plunged the knife, straight into the monster's heart. I twisted blade deeper, watching as the life in it's eyes slowly died out. It took me a minute to compose myself and finally take the blade out, but once I did, I got to my feet and glanced back to face the men.

"Well," Castiel began, still starting at the dead creature on the floor.

"That takes care of that," Dean finished, walking to Mr. Sanchez.

Instead of moving, I felt as if my feet were glued to the floor. It had been centuries since I had last killed a monster, much less anything.

"You alright, Hanna?" Sam tapped my shoulder, and stood in front of me, blocking my view from the corpse. I shook out of my trance of sorts, and looked up at Sam.

"Yes... yes. Thank you for asking, I just... I havent killed anything in a very, very long time," I noted.

"I understand. It's really overwhelming. When we get back, I'll help explain things a bit more throughly. Sound good?"

"Yes, sounds good."

He grinned, then patted my shoulder. I flinched- it did not hurt, but the gesture was so foreign to me. Staying out of the way, I stood by the couches, watching as the men untied a relieved Mr. Sanchez. "Thank you," he said, brushing the rest of the ropes off his arms.. "for-"

"Having Hanna murder a monster disguised as your late wife? Yes, of course," Sherlock replied.

"Uh... yeah. That," Evan replied.

"We're sorry," Castiel said, when nothing was left to say.

"Why? Im glad this thing's dead, it manipulated me. On top of that, it had the guts to mock my wife, which leads me to the question: why did it in the first place?" Mr. Sanchez commented.

"It was lonely," I stated.

As soon as Evan opened his mouth to question me, Sherlock jumped in. "Let me clarify, because you are inevitably going to spout off some idiotic question regarding why. Hanna is correct- the creature was lonely, not to mention, desperate. It must have watched you and Priscilla from afar four years past. Once Priscilla died, it saw the perfect chance to get to know you from afar- your daily schedule, foods you eat, nighttime rituals, etcetera. After it finally felt like it knew you enough to pass as your wife, it struck you at your most recent, vulnerable time- the anniversary of her death- and decided thats how it would integrate itself into your life. You were lonely, it was lonely, and thus the gaps were filled."

"It wanted to be loved, basically. It must've thought that in its eyes that this mess would be the best way to do it," John summarized.

Mr. Sanchez shakes his head in disgust. "Oh, God... okay. Well, thanks for getting rid of... her."

"I know that to you, Mr. Sanchez, it may look like it's your wife in your eyes, but... it wasnt. It was just a thing trying to gain your affections for its own benefit," Castiel said.

"Yeah, I..." he sighed. "I know." With one last look of gratitude from the man, another thank you, and a bit of cleanup, we were back in the TARDIS, silent with our thoughts.