I.

Dean closed the door of the car behind him and walked over to the house. He did not look back to his brother Sam, who still sat on the passenger's seat of the old black 1967 Chevy Impala. They had had a fight, again. Over the same thing as always. Sam wanted to call it quits. Again. He was such a fickle person. Dean had always been the determined one of the two brothers. Their father's training had been hard but from what he could tell, it had been worth every single drop of sweat and blood. They were doing something to relieve people's pain and also their own pain. But unfortunately, it didn't seem enough for Sam. Sam wanted Jessica back, that was all he could think about.

Dean tried hard to understand his younger brother, but he never could. Every time there was a new twist and turn in him that he hadn't known about before and each time he had a hard time adjusting to that. He knew that Sam hated everyone and everything so much it nearly consumed him from the inside and there was nothing Dean could do about it.

And now they were here, in front of the house of the Hawkings in Richmond. Dean had found this article in a newspaper telling about their youngest daughter who was said to be possessed by demons. Two people were dead already, both the father and the mother, and four other people were in a serious condition in the local hospital. The authorities had her locked up in a medical facility, running tests, finding nothing, blaming everything on the 12 year old girl. That was always the easiest way out, Dean thought. He had seen the strangest things, had faced the oldest demons but he had never understood why people blamed other people for supernatural phenomena and even killed these other people. Of course, it had been a common practice. The witch-burnings were a good indicator for that.

"You coming?" he shouted but Sam didn't move. Dean hated these fallouts with his brother. So he would have to establish the first contact alone.

He rang the doorbell, once, twice, but no one answered. Then he knocked. Nothing. He knocked again, this time with a bit more force and the door swung open. No one seemed to be home.

"Hello?" he shouted. "Anybody home?" He stepped in, moving carefully, eyeing the surroundings carefully. He had learned everything there was to learn from his father John but even though he knew what he was doing, he had to be careful. You never know what was going to happen. Dean felt a little tired. He hadn't been sleeping well lately. Mary was in his thoughts again. Even though he never admitted it to his brother, he knew exactly how Sam felt about the loss of Jessica. He took a few more steps, then he stopped dead in his tracks.

In front of him stood a thin blond girl, not older than 9 years, dirty and only wearing an old-fashioned white sleeping gown. She didn't cry but Dean noticed that she must have been crying before because he could see where the tears had washed away some of the dirt on her face. Her long brown hair was caked with mud.

"Hello there?" Dean said with a funny face. "Looking good today! Is your dad home?"

The girl didn't say anything.

"Or your mommy?"

Still, the little girl didn't reply.

"Can you tell me where to find them? Are you all on your own? Where is everybody?" He made a few steps towards the girl who stood there like a sculpture. Her eyes followed his move but still, she didn't say anything. Suddenly he heard footsteps from behind. He spun around.

"She doesn't speak." The unfriendly voice belonged to a thin young woman. She looked like the small girl, so Dean assumed they were sisters.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" Dean tried to explain why he was in here in a wide gesture of his arms.

"Lauren? Go upstairs and take a shower, darling, will you?" The tiny girl turned, ran up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind her.

"Nice girl…" Dean said, trying to be funny.

The young woman said nothing. Her huge green eyes were reddened and the clothes she wore, a long brown sweatshirt and white shorts, were too big for her frail body. Still, she was beautiful, to a certain level. But the sadness that was so obvious about her was so powerful that Dean wished he had not said anything.

Minutes passed and the uneasy silence stretched on like a chewing gum. Finally, the woman cleared her throat. "Why are you here?"

"Ah…well, I'm…I'm from the Daily Mail, a journalist?"

"Right…" She didn't seem convinced.

"Yes, ah…yes!"

"You better get out of the house or else I…"

"…call the cops?" Dean joked.

"No, take that rifle and shoot you!" She was damn serious. Dean looked to the right and saw a brown rifle leaning against the doorframe.

"Well…" He took a few steps backwards, away from her and away from the rifle. "No offence, but are you sure you want to shoot me? You don't even know why I'm here?"

"Didn't you just say you were a journalist? Those just come to make a story out of the incidents that happened here. Those blow up a story about a little girl who is supposed to be responsible for what happened. Those bring more pain. And those belong to a kind of people that I don't want to have around me or my sister. So please, get the hell out of here!" She moved towards the rifle.

"Ok, so I'm not a journalist."

"Guessed so. You're not as persistent as they are. They never give up easily." Her face twisted a bit.

Dean looked at her intently. "I want to help…"

Now she laughed. "Help? How. Kill her?"

"What? No!" He raised both hands. "No!" he said again. "Why would I do such a thing?"

She laughed again, but this time it sounded more like a snort. "Why? Why not? The people here made a sport out of it."

"No, I just want to help."

"Thank you, but no thank you. We don't need help. Nobody can help us anyway."

She again took a few daring steps towards the rifle.

"Listen to me! We can help you. My brother and I…", Dean pointed through the still open front door, "…have some experience with things like that." That was not exactly the truth, but he was sure that they could at least be of a bit of help.

"You're a priest then?" Her face hardened. "Get out, right now!" She jumped over to the rifle, snatched it and pointed it at Dean. She released the safety and her finger tightened around the trigger. "Get out!" she said through clenched teeth.

"We can help! And nobody will get hurt, ok? Put that thing out of my face and let's talk, alright?" He paused for a moment. It was time for the truth now. "My name is Dean Winchester. I want to help!"

She didn't move.

"All we heard is that the river turned red and that the people here think that the child, I assume it's your daughter, is possessed. People are dying. We can help here. We can find out what is going on."

"It's a lake, not a river! And she's my sister!" she hissed, but she lowered the rifle. It seemed to Dean as if she suddenly grew even frailer. All the anger that was on her face before was not there anymore, only sadness and exhaustion.

"Oh, ok…sorry." He flashed her one of his charming smiles but it didn't work on her. She still had this suspicious expression in her eyes but he could feel that she was tired of fighting. Whatever it was she was fighting.

"Can I come in? I mean, officially?"

She waved a hand, almost dismissively, when she turned around but Dean took it as a yes. He followed her into the living room where the tiny girl already sat squatted on the large sofa. Now she wore blue jeans and a green shirt with a Mickey Mouse logo printed on the front. Her hair was still wet, but she was clean now. The TV was on.

"Oh I love the Smurfs!" Dean said with a big smile on his face. He sat down next to her and looked really happy. He then shot a glance at Lucy and pointed at the TV. "Smurfs!" While he was pretending to watch the TV show, he scanned the room. There were many pictures, mostly pictures of the family. One caught his attention. It couldn't have been old, because except for the sadness and the skinniness of both of the girls, they looked about the same age as today. The parents were on that picture as well. They all looked very happy. He had to suppress a sigh.

"By the way, my name is Lucy. My sister's called Lauren." She sat down on the other sofa.

"I'm Dean." He turned to her.

"And our parents are dead…" Lucy said, almost matter-of-fact. Dean suddenly remembered. That was what he had read in the newspaper. Now he felt a little stupid.

"But Lauren didn't do it. She didn't do any of the things they accuse her of. She's just a girl…" She started to cry and buried her head in her hands. But this weakness lasted only for a moment or two. Quickly, she regained her composure and wiped across her face. Dean finally understood. This was the girl he had read about. This was the girl that everybody thought was possessed.

"Sorry for earlier, old habits die hard, I guess…" she whispered.

"It's ok, you know I'm kinda used to being threatened with a gun."

She gave him a questioning look but he waved his hand dismissively. Lucy didn't ask.

"So…what happened?" Dean inquired now.

Lucy watched her little sister, but Lauren didn't seem to be bothered by the presence of the stranger in any way. "You said you came here to help. How much do you know?"

"We read reports about the red riv-…lake and about your sister. And since Richmond was kinda on the way, I thought we could drop by and see if there's anything we could do. But I have to know everything to be able to help."