Some days couldn't go fast enough to an eight-year-old. The little girl couldn't wait to get home and away from all these kids. She dug through the coat closet, searching for her bright pink parka.

"Hey, old lady!" she heard from behind her. The little girl stiffened. It was those stupid boys again, making fun of her stupid name from her stupid grandma.

"Yeah, old lady! Gonna go knit something?" shrieked another obnoxious voice. Where on earth had Ms. Priestly gone?

The little girl whipped around to find three of the larger boys in her class right in front of her. She brushed past them, only to be trailed.

"Leave me alone," the girl said softly, her eyes watering up.

Suddenly, the taunts of the boys were replaced with loud thumps. She turned around to find all three boys pinned against the wall, as if held by some invisible force. The eight-year-old girl gasped; were her wizard powers finally making an appearance?

A tall male figure flickered into view in front of her. "Don't worry, M," he whispered reassuringly, "They can't hurt you." He disappeared in the blink of an eye as the young boys went flying across the room. The largest one started bawling as his arm broke with a loud snap.

The little girl's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. She quickly ran to go find her teacher.

Charlie slammed her car trunk closed, reopening it to double check the contents seconds later. She had everything she needed, right?

Salt and salt rounds- check. The redhead had started buying it in large quantities after learning from the Winchesters that it could stop ghosts and demons.

Shotgun- check. It was surprisingly easy to get a gun in most parts of the country. The salt rounds were already loaded and ready to go.

Iron crowbar- check. It probably wouldn't be used with all of the salt, but it wouldn't hurt to bring it.

Gasoline and a lighter- check.

Charlie didn't think that silver bullets and weapons would be needed, since the case looked like a simple salt-and-burn. She packed them anyway. The machete probably wouldn't be used either, but was also in the trunk.

Professional clothes for impersonating the FBI- check. She had almost forgotten those, along with her ID. Unfortunately for her, FBI agents walk around in drab pantsuits, instead of colorful graphic tee-shirts.

The girl closed the back and hopped into the driver's seat of the black punchbuggy. It was a fairly new car, with new being the relative term. It was new to Charlie because she bought it mere months ago. It wasn't new to the world, having been in a used car lot for at least a year.

Now that she thought about it, she had come a long way from the girl who fought the Leviathans. She felt… different. Less surprised with the world, more prepared for the unknown. It was a nice feeling, she thought as she drove off.

Charlie slumped into the driver's seat of her car. That had been a bust. Pretty much the only thing that she found out was what she already knew: it was a ghost. Although, it was pretty helpful to get the confirmation from the boys.

It wasn't entirely true, either, that she didn't find out anything new. Two of the boys, Jason Summers and Bryan Grant, insisted that they were merely walking out of the classroom with their good friends when they had been thrown up against the walls. Then, something threw them across the classroom. They claimed it was all very random.

The third boy, however, had a bit of a different tale. Mark Miller, the kid with the broken arm, grudgingly admitted that they had been teasing the little girl in the room for her name. That was when they had been visited by a ghost.

The redhead quickly scoured the internet on her laptop for other strange occurences.

It had turned out too that the little girl-Muriel was her name-had been at the center of another attack. Charlie had found that another young girl had gone home from Muriel's house only to "fall" down a flight of stairs. Audrey Jones, the kid's mom, said it looked as if she was pushed, but no one was there.

That was a lead, but Charlie wasn't sure if spirits could attack people who hadn't wronged necessarily themselves. It didn't follow any of the usual patterns from what she knew of ghosts. It might be time to call in an expert. She pulled up a few streets over from Muriel's house, got out of the car, and started dialing a familiar number.

"What's up, Charlie?" said the gruff voice on the phone.

"Hey Dean. I just had a question for my, uh, database." Charlie stammered, not wanting the Winchesters to know that she was on a case. They would only freak out on her.

"Shoot."

"Could ghosts by any chance not want vengeance for themselves? Like, if they're protecting someone?"

She could hear the low sigh from over the phone. "Yeah, I think so. Me and Sammy came across a case like that when we were kids. Some hot chick's aunt attacked her abusive boyfriend, if I remember correctly. It's plausible then, I guess. Why do you need this in your database?"

"Uhh…" Charlie was saved from having to answer as she was slammed into my some woman.

"Oh my gosh I am so…" the other woman started off, before falling silent.

"Dean, I've got to go," the redhead shut off her phone, her jaw dropping in recognition. "Megan?"

Thanks again to .