Deadly Secrets

Disclaimer: I don't own anything from Supernatural, and I'm not making any money from this fic. Any characters you don't recognise from the show, I probably own

Summary: My take on why Dean's eyes started bleeding in Bloody Mary

Warning(s): Spoilers; violence; dark, scary parts

Author's Note: I'm really sorry if this fic doesn't seem to make too much sense – I wanted to make it a one-shot, even if it might have been better off as a two-shot, at least. It does make sense to me – but that could just be my twisted mind at work

"Sam? Sammy!" Dean had his hands on his little brother's shoulders, staring into Sam's eyes. He wiped the red fluid that fell like tears, and felt almost physically sick. So much blood…

Sam blinked, and then tried to focus. "It's Sam," he corrected.

"God, are you okay?" Dean didn't bother to try and mask the concern that he knew showed on his face and in his voice.

"Uh, yeah."

"Come on." Dean helped Sam up, and wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulder to support him. "Come on." He started to lead his brother away from the smashed mirrors. Something, however, drew both of their attention behind them.

Bloody Mary crawled out of the frame of her mirror. She was breathing heavily, almost gasping, but neither of the brothers could react to it as both fell to the floor, bleeding from their eyes.

Abruptly, words formed inside Dean's mind:

You killed him. You had every chance to stop it, and you failed.

And he really had…

Dean and John Winchester stood outside the tall building, looking up at it with a sense of foreboding. The place seemed harmless enough, but a horrific murder had happened there years before. A man had supposedly murdered his wife and seven-year-old daughter, before killing himself.

"I'd say it's the child doing it," John said at last, half to his oldest son, and half to himself.

Dean glanced at his father. "Well… All of the victims have been men, and they've all shared a certain likeness to the kid's father," he commented. "It's only natural to assume that she'd want revenge." He turned his gaze back to the building, and thought, not for the first time, about how deceiving appearances could be. There was no sign of the horrors that must have gone on behind those walls.

"So… What's the plan?" Dean asked.

"We split up," John answered, giving a slight shrug. "You take the upstairs, and I take the downstairs. Whoever finds the spirit calls the other to help with the exorcism. You are not to attempt an exorcism on your own. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir," Dean replied, not bothering to argue. Besides… if I need to, I guess I can always claim I 'forgot' his orders. Not for the first time, though, Dean found himself missing his brother. He'd never admit it to anyone, but it was kind of lonely without Sam around. The family had split, and Dean had no idea of how to put it back together again. Not to mention the fact that his father clammed up whenever he dared to bring Sam into the conversation.

"Good," John said. "Make sure you have your cell phone switched on and where you can hear it. If neither of us finds anything, we'll meet back here in exactly one hour." With that, he headed through the front door, closely followed by Dean, who then started upstairs, holding his gun steadily and aimed in front of him.

Rock salt… Might not completely destroy a spirit, but it'll definitely repel one.

The house was eerily quiet, save for the sound the steps made as they creaked under Dean's feet. The carpet was worn and threadbare. This definitely isn't the sort of place I'd like to live in, Dean thought. As he walked, he suddenly felt something slightly slippery under his feet. Glancing down, he grimaced slightly, as he saw a little pool of blood. Of course, he knew that it was nothing more than an illusion – but still…

Once he had got to the top of the stairs, Dean frowned, his sharp ears catching the sound of someone moving around. So the spirit generally tries to summon people to her by causing them to investigate a noise? Well, brat, you've met your match with me. He started walking, holding his gun directly in front of him, then paused outside the room he was pretty sure the sound was coming from. It would be closed.

Not about to lower his gun even in order to open the door, Dean lifted his leg, and kicked it open. He then quickly went through, holding the gun in readiness.

A young man was curled up on the floor, shaking and gibbering. Dean frowned, and then sighed, lowering his gun for just a moment so that he could walk over to the man and place a hand on his shoulder. "Hey."

Immediately, the man jerked back, his expression showing his fear. "Please… don't hurt me," he begged.

"I'm not gonna hurt you." Dean glanced around for only a moment, before turning his attention back to the man. "What happened? What did you see?"

"She's here…" the man whimpered, rocking back and forth, just like a small child.

"Stick with me, and you'll be fine," Dean attempted to reassure him. He held a hand out to the man, and was a little relieved when he took it and pulled himself to his feet – although the man wasn't meeting Dean's gaze, and was still somewhat hunched into himself.

Dean then hesitated. Instinct told him to get the man safely out of the house, and then come back to deal with the spirit. However, Dean was sure that he'd be able to protect the man – and if the little girl was around, then it would be better to deal with her sooner rather than later. It'll be fine – at least I know what I'm looking for.

"Follow me," Dean said to the man. He then raised his gun again, and started out of the door. As he continued down the hallway, though, he paused, seeing a dark-haired, slight figure ahead of him. "Wait here." He immediately started heading towards the little girl, feeling slightly nervous – but he was certain that he could deal with this. How much trouble could one spirit girl cause, after all?

As Dean aimed his gun at her, the little girl lifted her head, and looked deep into his eyes. Abruptly, Dean felt his knees buckle. Try as he might, he couldn't stay conscious, and the whole world turned grey.

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I saved you, Daddy.

Huh? Dean opened his eyes, and found himself staring into huge brown ones. He blinked a few times, and his vision returned to normal. He wasn't sure that was a totally good thing, though. The little spirit girl was crouching over him, watching him with an obvious smile on her face.

Aw, crap. Dean suddenly realised that he still had his gun in his hand, and started to raise it. Then, he paused, seeing the look in the ghost's eyes – and hearing her words register in his mind…

"What do you mean, saved me?"

I wasn't strong enough before, but I was able to now, Daddy.

Dean's first instinct was to lift his gun and fire at the ghost as many times as possible before getting up and running away as fast as he could, looking for his father. But… the girl was making no move to attack him, and… were those tears in her eyes?

"I'm not your Dad," Dean said fuzzily.

The little girl put her head on one side, as if seriously considering his words. Are so. This is where you lay before… when you were dead…

Dean instantly jerked to his feet as the words penetrated his mind. The girl drifted back a few paces, looking up at him. "I'm taking a shower!" he announced, and then stopped dead as he noticed what lay a few feet beyond the girl.

The man was there, lying in a pool of his own blood. His eyes were wide and glassy, and there was a huge gash where his throat had once been.

Dean gaped for a moment, and then immediately whirled on the little girl. "You did that!" he exclaimed, raising his gun once more. But his hand shook ever so slightly, and he wasn't that certain of his own words.

The girl shook her head from side to side. No… She did, Daddy. She raised her arms to Dean, almost as if she wanted him to pick her up. Take me with you.

Dean's mind was racing. She did? The little girl said that she saved me – clearly thinks that I'm her Dad. So what does that mean? Well, the logical conclusion was going to come sooner or later. "Your Mom did it, didn't she?" If that was the truth – and Dean was beginning to believe that more and more – then he'd just gone and got the man killed due to his complete focus on the little girl being the killer.

Which meant that the man's death was his fault…

Daddy… The little girl continued to look up at him, something like hope gleaming in her eyes, and Dean wondered.

She wanted to save her Dad… Sometimes, ghosts hang around because they believe they've got some unfinished business to take care of. Maybe she can move on now? Despite his complete aversion to anything emotional, Dean somehow couldn't stop himself from slipping his arms around the ghost girl. Although there was no solidity to her form, it still felt like he was hugging her.

The little girl released what could have been a sigh, and then her form dissipated. For just an instant, Dean's necklace glowed.

Dean turned his attention back to the man lying dead on the floor, and then raised the gun in his hands once more as the form of a severe-looking woman appeared, floating just above the floor.

This time, he was safe in the knowledge that he had the right spirit.

As Bloody Mary approached, Dean reached over, and grabbed one of the still-intact mirrors, angling it so that it was in front of him and Sam. The spirit stopped as the reflection began condemning her for all of the people she'd killed.

As soon as Mary had choked to death and melted into a pile of blood, Dean threw down the mirror he was still holding, and it shattered. "Hey, Sam?"

"Yeah?" his brother replied.

"This has got to be like… what? 600 years of bad luck."

The End