When the Ghostfacers finally opened their eyes, there were three men standing in front of them. Quickly, it became apparent to them both just how loud they were screaming, and that they were holding onto each other. Ed and Harry stepped away from the other awkwardly, wiping their hands on their cargo pants as if to rid themselves of each other's touch. A blonde man in an olive coat was the first to show any expression, a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips as the two Ghostfacers brushed themselves clean.

Harry gulped, looking at each of the men in front of him and his business partner. "Who the hell are you guys supposed to be?"

"Yeah, Beastie Boys, what's going on?" Ed added, raising an eyebrow as he examined the three.

The blonde man crossed his arms. He was shorter than the other two men, who were around the same height as each other. His foot tapped on the ground, blonde hair glistening from the light of... wherever they were. The edges of his hair curled around his ear lobes, eyes shining a dark gold shade. He looked to the man on his right, almost as if he were asking permission to do something the Ghostfacers didn't even want to think about - considering what they had just seen back at the Weeping Angel house. The man in the middle looked to the blonde, shaking his head.

His mop of dark hair flopped as he shook his head, lips pursing. He held his hand out as if he were trying to stop something that was about to happen, or just prove how much he meant 'no' to whatever the blonde had been asking. Nimble fingers eventually reached into the pockets of his poorly fitting blazer, leading Ed's eyes down to his untucked shirt. He was lanky, tall, and his pants were far too short for what should've been comfortable for him (his bright polka dot socks that were sticking out were something of a marvel, Ed had to admit). Shiftier than the other two, his deep brown eyes wandered away from Harry and Ed a lot more, his hands appeared to be fidgeting in his pockets as they stood.

The man on the left had grizzly stubble lining his jaw, his black hair messy and sticking up in all directions. He wore a beige trench coat and a dirty blue tie, almost the same shade as his bright eyes. His face was contorted into a frown, staring intently at the two men. At least him, they had seen before.

"Castiel, was it?" Harry squeaked, realizing quickly that perhaps he hadn't been the most polite around the angel, and he was in no place to protect himself should the angel decide to not want his company.

"Did she hurt you at all?" Castiel asked, looking at the two men.

"All due respect, Castiel, but wouldn't we be able to see-?"

"You don't know what she's capable of, little brother," the blonde man cut off the middle man, who appeared to be the only British one of the five of them. The blonde man's eyes darted to the ground for a split second. He turned back to the Ghostfacers to further explain, "It wouldn't be the first time we didn't see what she'd done."

"You guys are talking about that Leila chick, right?" Ed asked, frowning. "How do you know about her?"

"It really is Leila?" the one with the floppy hair looked dejected, the light in his eyes dimming.

"Elijah, please, you know that it isn't really her doing this," Castiel sighed softly.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be for yourself," the blonde man said, patting Elijah on the shoulder. "This is so much bigger than we know."

"Um, hate to interrupt, but I have a couple questions. Where the hell are we? Why are we surrounded by what I assume are angels? Are we dead? Why the hell is there a teenage girl with glowing red eyes in Georgia? And why in God's name do you guys know who she is?" Harry spoke quickly, the panic in his voice obvious. Her red eyes were burned into his head, each time he blinked, it was as if they were glowing right in front of him. His hands were shaking and clammy, and he had the sudden, desperate urge to go the bathroom because his nerves seemed to be getting the better of him.

"Heaven. I assume the first answer explains the second. You're not dead, but you were likely about to be. Technically, the red eyes aren't her. And we know her because this is completely our fault," the blonde man sighed.

"Gabriel, we couldn't have-" Castiel began to protest.

"We should have though, Castiel. We should've," Elijah muttered softly.

"Can someone please fill us in on what exactly is going on?" Harry asked, wide-eyed.

"Leila is..." Castiel began, then sighed.

"Look, it's like this, my girl Goldilocks back there was dying, how it happened, we're not gonna say. All you need to know is, she hadn't completely died yet, so Castiel and I talked her into doing this deal where she would get to be a vessel for an important deity, Saint Dymphna—" Gabriel explained.

"Saint Who-Now?" Ed asked, frowning.

"Was I telling a story?"

"Sorry, continue."

"So, Saint Dymphna, patron saint of the mentally ill, needed a body, we had a body. Figured it would work, Dymphna could heal little miss Connors, and in return, Goldilocks gets to live her life again. Seemed like a good idea at the time," Gabriel finished.

"It's not a good idea now I take it?" Harry asked, looking at Gabriel expectantly. The crimson eyes were still burning in the back of his brain, as if they were still in front of him, reading to demolish everything he ever was. Maybe he and Ed should've listened to Connie after all...

"Her life force is too strong," Elijah spoke up, eyes staring at the floor. It was like he was present somewhere else rather than the room he was in—he was far off in the distance, likely with Leila before Saint Who-It's was in her, Harry guessed. Elijah shook his head, looking to the Ghostfacers, "Normally, when Saint Dymphna is taking a host body, the body is dead. A lot of the time, it's a willing soul who travelled to Heaven after their mental illness got the best of them—Saint Dymphna couldn't save them, but they could save her. Every seven years, marking the anniversary of her death, Dymphna needs a new host. Leila was supposed to be that host."

"As Elijah said, her life force was too strong. When Dymphna's essence entered, because Leila was willing, it gave her exactly what she needed to be full strength," Castiel completed. "We didn't know that giving her a live host would mean murdering innocent men. We haven't figured out how to stop her yet, and each minute on earth she grows stronger, and more people are dying."

"Wait, wait, wait—" All eyes fell to Ed as he spoke— "If she's this saint... being... thing... isn't she supposed to help people? I don't get what changed if this saint lady was helping people before."

"She helped people because she wasn't at full power," Gabriel answered. "She could help them, and without being in a live host, was able to focus on simply helping them. She's had centuries of dealing with the mentally ill to build up vengeful spirit tendencies. Course, we didn't know that when were trying to help her, and now we're chasing around a spirit with abilities we don't even understand. Clear enough for you?"

"Um, it's a little muddy, but sure," Harry managed.

Ed sighed, "She tried to kill us though."

"No," Harry replied. "It was Saint Whatever-The-Hell tried to kill us, wasn't it?" Gabriel nodded, Harry swallowed hard, "That kid—Leila—was trying to ask us for help before the saint took over her—"

"Wait, you talked to her?" Elijah asked, finally sounding alert and aware of the conversation. He was present, no longer lost in his own thoughts. "Like, really talked to her? Leila?"

"I mean, I think so. She did say it was her," Harry answered. "Not that Ed or I would know any better, we didn't know this chick before she had a saint in her doing things. Only you guys would know.

"If it is her, then that's the most contact we've heard from her in months," Castiel said. "Anytime we catch a glimpse of her body somewhere, it's Saint Dymphna."

Gabriel pursed his lips, "If this was really Leila... Well, to say the least, we can work with her. Dymphna's the one we've got to look out for. She's angel warded the house she's got Leila caught in, we couldn't get in even if we wanted to. If you guys can somehow get in there and get Leila—real Leila—out... We've got a shot at turning this entire thing around. It'll be dangerous though, I'm not going to lie to you."

Ed swallowed hard, nodding his head slightly, "We've been doing this ghost-hunting thing for a while now—I don't know if you've heard of us, we're kind of internet famous—" Castiel looked to his brothers, who both shrugged in the same confusion as him. Ed didn't seem to notice, or just simply elected to continue anyway, "And, I suppose that it's all we've ever known—hunting, that is. The fame only came recently."

"Is there a point to this?" Gabriel asked, knitting his eyebrows together.

Already, Gabriel had his doubts about the two humans' capabilities to bring Leila to them so they could help her. But he knew they had to try, after all, it's not like they could as Sam and Dean Winchester, Gabriel and Castiel had been avoiding them at all costs. They still didn't know the poor girl was alive, let alone that she had a demon saint's essence inside of her. Dean would probably kill him and Castiel when he found out, Gabriel had no doubt about it. He'd seen the older Winchester at the river she'd fallen into, the last thing that man needed was another heartbreak; especially if they returned Leila to him even more broken than she was before. He already had her tiny shards of broken glass slowly bleeding him dry—he didn't need a dagger directly to the heart to go with them.

"I was getting there," Ed said, sheepishly shifting on his feet, "I guess what I was trying to say was—" He looked to his business partner, who nodded encouragingly. Ed nodded in response, agreeing to their silent conversation. Ed knew how it felt to lose a friend to spirits, it was a time he had to flirt with a spirit in order to allow him to pass onto the spirit world. They both knew what needed to be done, but Ed still tried to speak confidently, "How can we help you guys save your friend?"

*****

The voices were so loud. She couldn't get them to stop.

It felt like she was intoxicated, her footsteps couldn't keep her upright. Swaying side to side, crashing into walls. Leila couldn't feel anything. They were loud, they were screaming, and there was nothing she could do to get them to stop. Her body scraped against the walls, rubbing the cracking floral wallpaper and bare boards. Feet heavy, pounding with every laboured step she had to take, she forced her way down the hall she'd grown to know so well.

She felt like she was drowning all over again. Yet somehow, this was so much worse than being underwater and choking on words. When she fell, she'd almost felt relieved, but this? This was pure agony a thousand times worse than dying. The voices were screaming—a chorus of pain all crying out for her to save them, no. For Dymphna to save them.

Little did they know...

Leila's hands were bloody, and it was all Dymphna's fault. When Leila agreed to harbour the saint's essence, she'd done it thinking that she would be helping people. Almost immediately after Dymphna took over, Leila regretted her decision. Dymphna would take over when Leila didn't want her to—and even when she wasn't taking over, all Leila could hear was the voices that she brought with her. They never left, and each time Dymphna gave Leila her control back, the voices only grew louder.

Her steps grew heavier, slamming against the creaky wooden baseboards of the abandoned house. She clutched her ears, trying to drown out all the screaming. She collapsed on the ground, head against the baseboards. The screaming in her head was only overpowered by her own screaming—which was the only thing that kept her in the present moment and not passing out. The blood on her hands caked her ears and cheeks as she clawed, trying to get anything to stop the screaming. All she wanted was for it to stop.

Saint Dymphna was helping those who were mentally ill, when she chose to, at least. The world was in so much pain, though, the saint couldn't possibly help everyone. It was tearing Leila apart seeing the pain in the world, and it was destroying her that she couldn't do anything about it. When Dymphna was in control, Leila couldn't even force herself to look away.

It was slashing and stabbing, beating and battering. Leila saw it all. Innocent people, dead in the blink of her eyes—but it was surely Dymphna's hands that did the deed.

Tears stung Leila's bloodshot eyes, the most she'd slept was measly minutes at a time. There was never an end to the voices and their screaming, and Saint Dymphna was beginning to pick up on her sprees around the town—they were at least once a week, ranging closer to every three nights. Leila didn't know how to stop it, and wondered if she even could.

As she closed her eyes in agony, all she could see was flashes of the man of the night. Wriggling as Dymphna held him down, fighting as she pulled her blade on him and tore into his skin with it. Dymphna was merciless, she made sure that once she had a victim in mind—which was usually someone within a certain radius of the house—she made sure he would never see the light of the next day's dawn. This night was no different than the others, and Leila could feel Dymphna getting stronger with each passing day.

When she was herself, her real, true self, Leila had wanted to contact Castiel, Elijah, or even Gabriel for help, to try and get Dymphna away from her. Get Dymphna out and be able to tell them what she had been doing, because Leila couldn't stop her and Dymphna deserved to be locked away for her plans against humanity. Whenever that red film covered her eyes, nothing could bring Leila back until Dymphna was finished with whatever she needed to do.

It was becoming rarer that Leila had control over her own body. Dymphna was either helping the mentally ill, or murdering the innocent. Leila hadn't the faintest idea why, but if she could just take control long enough, she could contact one of the angels, and maybe they would know.

Dymphna had taken her to the house almost immediately after she'd entered Leila's mouth in a cloud of pale yellow smoke. It was like she knew exactly where she was going, and it wasn't long until Leila watched Dymphna all but confirm it.  The locals began calling it the Weeping Angel house not long after Leila and Dymphna began staying there. Leila had only wished that someone would come to the house and see what the 'angel' really was—that was, if she believed anyone really cared.

The city of Senoia only cared so much.

Humanity, Leila found, were caring enough to spread around when something was wrong, but did not care enough to actually do something about it. And while Leila knew the Weeping Angel house had turned into something of an urban legend, she still wished that someone would come see what was wrong. The two men that had been there earlier seemed like they could help, but Dymphna didn't even give Leila the chance to ask them—just false hope that she'd be able to. The managed to get out, which Leila couldn't figure out.

There had been a flash of near blinding white light, and the two men were gone. She was sure that Dymphna's take over had been the only reason she wasn't blinded by whatever took the two away. Dymphna had intended to kill them, Leila could feel that when she took over when Leila had gotten close enough to them. She was glad that they had been taken away, but Dymphna decided to kill that night, it just wasn't the two that came to the house.

Leila looked at her shaking blood-stained hands, her bottom lip was quivering as she choked back more sobs. This wasn't how it was supposed to be, but Dymphna wouldn't let her go. Leila had looked on the internet one of the few times Dymphna had given her the ability to actually be herself, and she couldn't find anything other than Dymphna's history. Nothing about lore, like she'd seen Sam researching in the time they were all together.

Damn, did she miss those boys. The Winchesters had done what they could for her, and she still couldn't free herself from the voices—but the voices that came with Dymphna were so much worse than she could've ever imagined. Leila felt a pit in her stomach form, as it did whenever she thought about Sam and Dean.

She should've just left them alone. She knew that more than ever in her time she'd spent with Dymphna. Leila knew what had to be done—but she also knew that she couldn't ask the Winchesters to do it, both would refuse without hesitation. But the thing was, the Winchesters killed monsters.

And Leila was hosting the worst of them all.

*****

[ a.n. ] pretty sure that's the fastest (even though it wasn't that fast, lets be real) update I've ever had for THE RUNAWAY series, lmao. Hope that you all enjoyed, I'm really excited as to where this is heading! Let me know what you thought in the comments below and if you enjoyed, please vote and fan as well!

What did we think of Elijah? He's our runner-up contest winner, and was created by the wonderful Corporal-Nerdy, who I've dedicated this chapter to because Elijah is so wonderful. I'm so excited to have both of them on board with this inbetweequel project and you can bet he's going to be a benefitting factor in the next chapters to come!

Until next time, warriors,

Thalia/Jordin