This story begins shortly after Dean finds out he is the vessel for Michael. The rest of the story becomes its own and does not follow the official Supernatural storyline. Just in case, I don't own Supernatural. I only own the words here and how they are place. Thanks for reading!

Leigh Bartley was so happy to hear the door lock click open when she pulled the keycard from metallic slot. The four star hotel she was staying in was nice, but work was completely draining her. She barely had enough time to enjoy the gorgeous marble bath in the lavish bathroom, but tonight she planned on changing that. She threw her books and clipboards on the bed and kicked off her heels. Her purse went flying next and her hair finally came loose. Sighing with anticipation, she ran the bath water and began humming to herself.

As she passed the bathroom counter, she placed her earrings and tennis bracelet on the smooth tiled top. She made her way back to the bed and turned on the soft listening station on the small black radio that rested on the nightstand. She stopped humming when she realized the water was no longer running. 'Odd' she thought to herself. Maybe something was wrong with the plumbing. That would completely ruin her night.

She hurried back to the bath and turned the faucet clockwise then counter clockwise. Nothing. Leigh pouted and she could already feel the headache approaching. "Just great," she let out a heavy sigh. Her blood ran cold when she saw her own breath in a frosty mist. Suddenly, the radio went static. The volume increased to a screeching level causing Leigh to throw her hands over her ears to muffle the piercing pitch.

The whole place began to shake and one by one the light bulbs throughout her room burst into tiny little pieces. Her heart leapt around in her chest when the bathroom mirrors began cracking and breaking off. She rushed out of the bathroom and ran to her luggage. Her hands fumbled with the locks, her eyes completely focused on the task before her.

Her suitcase sprung open and she drove her hands into her clothing, searching for the only weapon she had on her. When her slender finger wrapped around a tiny bottle, she turned just in time to see a shimmer of a ghost flying toward her. She was knocked on her back and felt a deadly grip around her throat. A shrill, chilling voice filled her ears. "Welcome, Ms. Bartley. We've been expecting you."