Dean didn't get a chance to make a smart ass comment in return. He just groaned. This was why he worked alone if he didn't have someone in the know around. It looked as if he were aiming at the woman. His jaw set, and his eyes narrowed slightly. It was just a few bullets, and it wouldn't do as much as he'd liked; but, if he could get the damn thing's attention, he might be able to disperse it for a little while with the shovel.
Three shots, two more than he'd wanted, and the ghost finally took notice.
"Yeah, why do you want her? She's nosy, annoying, and that's got to be bottle." The ghost looked from the woman that it held down as if it were actually considering the hair color. Dean just smiled. "Yeah, none of that's natural. But me? I'm just pretty 'cause I was born that way."
The ghost didn't seem to like that at all. It "jumped" off the woman and headed Dean's way. He had just enough time to lift the shovel and take a good swing before the damn thing had him pinned in the grave he was trying so hard to dig up. The ghost evaporated, but Dean knew it wouldn't last long.
"Crowbar, swing when you see that damn thing coming. Whatever you do, do not hit me." He yanked up said crowbar from his bag and tossed it toward the woman.