Author's note: I thought I'd give another Supernatural fic a try, since I just can't get those boys out of my head. Thanks for the incredible response to my first one, I honestly thought people would tell me it was shit, so at least that was a pleasant surprise.

So, basic backstory on this fic: First of all, this takes place in Season 2. Okay? Okay. Just a little two-shot again. Also, I kid you not, I dreamed this. I went to sleep and dreamed this up. I'm a little terrified of my subconscious, but whatever. Hope you enjoy it. Sorry if the boys are a little OOC. I just keep feeling like I haven't quite wrapped my head around they're psyches yet. Tell me if I'm doing okay in the reviews, please?

AND WHO ELSE IS ABOUT TO HAVE A PANIC ATTACK ABOUT SEASON 14 STARTING ON THURSDAY?! THOSE TRAILER VIDEOS...

Disclaimer: Supernatural is not mine in any way, otherwise I would've taken Jensen home with me.

Chapter 1: You Gotta Believe Me

DEAN'S POV

We were back at a library. Again. Researching stuff. Again. Sam was in his element. Again. I was bored and miserable as hell. Again.

Seeing the pattern? Seeing how we were doing things we've done so many damn times that I'm just so finished with it? Yeah.

So while Sam was hard at work, I read some Batman comics.

"Dean." Sam said after a while.

I looked up. "Yeah?"

"You feel like actually doing something useful anytime soon?"

I pretended to think about it for a second, then shook my head. "Wasn't planning on it, no."

"Something's killing twelve-year-old girls, Dean. The least you can do is actually show a little interest."

"I did!"

"For all of ten minutes."

"I-"

"Ahem."

Sam and I looked up to find an old woman standing next to us. She looked angry.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What? Why?" I really didn't get it. We were doing exactly what libraries were made for. Research. Or Sam was, anyway.

"Because you're arguing, and it's loud and distracting. You can check out your books and have your fight elsewhere."

Sam glared at me, got up, left everything where it was, and headed to the door. I jogged after him. I didn't want to deal with an angry old woman any longer than I absolutely had to. They could be downright scary.

"Sam!"

"I can't believe you just got us kicked out of a library." He was trying to stay upset, but he couldn't help laughing a little. He knew it was funny.

"You know you love my skill set. Getting kicked out of libraries is part of the charm."

"Yeah, whatever."

I opened the Impala's door, but before I could get in, this blonde girl came tearing out of the house next to the library screaming.

"Hey!" I shouted. "The hell's the matter?!"

The girl let out some weird half-sob, half-scream thing and ran over to us. She literally jumped at me, so I had no choice but to catch her. I wasn't about to let some sobbing 12-year-old fall and crack her head open in the parking lot right in front of me.

She wrapped her legs around my waist - like you see really little kids do to their moms - and her arms around my neck and just sobbed into my shoulder. I gave Sam this look like 'what in the name of all that is holy?'. He shrugged. He was just as lost as I was.

Taking advantage of the open door, I set her down in the front seat of the Impala and crouched down next to her. "Hey, you gotta calm down. We can't understand you or help you when you're going crazy."

"Deep breaths." Sam said.

Fat lot of help you are.

Once the girl was calm enough, I said, "I'm Dean, and this is Sam. What's your name?"

"Carrie." she sniffled.

I raised an eyebrow. You don't get a lot of kids named Carrie anymore. "Alright, Carrie, what's the deal?"

She shook her head. "You won't believe me! You'll think I'm crazy!"

I glanced at Sam. "Believe me, Carrie, crazy's kinda our thing."

"Are you making fun of me?" Tears started to slip down her face again.

"No!" I said quickly. "Hell, no. I'd never make fun of anybody."

Sam snorted and I glared at him. That wasn't helping anything.

"You can tell us, Carrie. We won't laugh or think you're crazy. We can probably help you with it." I was pretty sure that whatever scared her was what Sam and I were hunting. After all, the thing had been going after twelve-year-old girls, and here we had one, ready and waiting.

"There's something in my house." she whispered, like she was sharing some dirty secret. "I think it's a ghost. It's so angry…"

I glanced at Sam again. Bingo. "Can we come in your house and check it out?"

Suspicion finally entered the conversation as Carrie remembered we were just two random, grown men she'd found in the parking lot. "I dunno…"

I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet, opening it and showing it to her. "If it makes you feel any better, we're FBI."

Her expression cleared. "Oh. Okay, yeah, you can come in." She hopped out of the car and over to her house.

I closed the door and we followed her. "Works every time." I whispered to Sam, smiling.

The house was one of those white, old-fashioned looking ones with two stories and a balcony and a couple columns out front.

"Wow." I said.

Carrie looked back at me as she opened the door. "We just bought it from this old man. It's been in his family for ages, but he doesn't have any kids, so he sold it."

"And pissed off the ghost." I finished as she closed the door behind us. "Did his family own anything else?"

Carrie nodded. "They're the ones who started this town. They owned everything. But this was the last thing."

Sam was nodding slowly behind me. It was pretty obvious what had happened. The family didn't own anything anymore, which had upset something, and now we had a pissy ghost on our hands. The only question was, why twelve-year-old girls?"

"Where are your parents?" Sam asked. "Can we talk to them?"

Carrie bit her lip. "They're on vacation. They didn't wanna bring me, so they said I was old enough to stay here by myself."

"No offense, Carrie, but your parents suck." I said.

Sam gave me a weird look. I had no idea why. I knew how bad it could get when you were left by yourself to try and handle everything. Though, admittedly, Carrie didn't have the 'everything plus Sammy' problem that I did.

Carrie didn't seem to mind what I'd said. "Yeah. I can't believe they didn't take me with them."

"Where'd they go?"

"New York, I think."

"Well, that's just beautiful." I muttered.

Sam nudged me in the ribs. "Dude, lay off the parents."

I shook my head, but moved on to other things. "Alright, we're gonna look around for the ghost." I sat Carrie down in the nearest chair and poured salt around her. "Stay in the circle. Sam and I are gonna go get some stuff from the car. We'll be right back."

She looked up at me, scared. "Double promise?"

I smiled softly. Sam used to say that. "Yeah, double promise."

XxXxX

"Why twelve year olds? And why girls?" Sam asked the minute we were back at the car.

I popped open the trunk and started digging around. "Hell if I know. I mean, I can see why it's angry, but ghosts are only this specific when they've got an actual reason to be. Did you see anything when we were in the library?"

"No, Dean, you got us kicked out, remember?"

"Well so-rry." I handed him a sawed-off. "Now let's go."

We headed back in the house and I gave Carrie a reassuring smile. "We're just gonna look around. Remember to stay in the salt ring."

She nodded, looking scared, and Sam and I moved up the stairs. I waved the EMF all over the place, trying to get a reading.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

I shook my head. "Nothing but a couple blips. Damn, with a ghost this busy, you'd think there'd be something."

"Maybe it's broken."

"That's just hurtful. I made this myself, you know."

"You won't let me forget."

"Of course not."

We did a thorough sweep of the house and came up with absolutely nothing. Finally we ended up in the kitchen.

I shook my head. "I just don't get it. There're cold-spots all over the place, but nothing else points to a ghost."

"Dean, d'you think maybe Carrie's just… crazy?"

"Sam, there are cold-spots."

"But like you said, there's nothing else. Maybe their AC sucks."

"Dude-"

Before I could finish, Carrie screamed so loud and shrill that I was surprised the windows didn't shatter.

Sam and I ran back to the hall by the front door. Nothing was different, but Carrie had curled up on her chair in the salt circle and was bawling her eyes out.

I crouched down next to her. "Carrie, what happened? What's the matter?"

"The ghost came back, it threw a glass at me!" she screamed. I looked around the floor next to her, running my fingers through the carpet, but there wasn't any broken glass there. I glanced around. Everything was exactly how it'd been when Sam and I'd left her there.

"Carrie, nothing's here." I glanced at Sam. Maybe he was right. Maybe she was crazy. Or maybe she was taking advantage of all the girls killed lately to get attention. Her parents had left her alone by herself even though girls were getting killed, after all. Which really made me wanna punch them. What the hell did they think they were doing?

Carrie looked up at me, tears flowing. "What d'you mean? It's right-" she turned to look down at the carpet, then froze. "But - but it was right there! It hit the wall and shattered right there!" She spun back around to me, her hands gripping my shirt. "You gotta believe me, Dean! It was right there!"

"Sure, Carrie, I believe you." I lied. "C'mon, you can get out of the circle now."

She slipped off her chair and out of the circle, still clutching my shirt, like she was terrified to put any space between me and her.

I really wasn't sure what to do with it. It wasn't like I had a daughter or anything. Finally I just settled on doing what I used to with Sam and wrapped my arm around her shoulders, holding her close to my side. This traumatized little girl couldn't be that different from the traumatized little boy Sam had been.

"Stay with me tonight? Please?" Carrie looked up at me with puppy-dog eyes to rival Sam's. "I'm too scared to stay here alone."

Well, I couldn't say no to that. "Okay. We'll stay."

Sam gave me this look like I'd hit my head one too many times - which, obviously, I have, but that's beside the point.

Carrie smiled at me. "Thanks, Dean."

Author's afterthought: REVIEW PLEASE, GUYS! Constructive criticism is perfectly welcome, please tell me if you think the boys are OOC, and any other complaints you might have. And, obviously, good comments are loved and cherished as well.