5. Something Wicked

I was tired but pumped. It had taken nearly a week to pin down that zombie. Who knew that track stars would be just as fast undead as they were alive? But the job was done and I was only a half hour away from pure heaven. There was a small diner just outside Springfield, Illinois that did the most amazing waffles; I could already taste the fluffy sweetness. No matter how tired I was, how many bumps and bruises I collected, waffles and strawberry shake would always make it better.

I was jolted out of my food fantasy by my cell. I didn't recognise the number, so answered with a wary, "Hello?"

"Raelynn? Is that you?" It was a woman. A troubled one at that, if her quivering words were anything to go by.

"Who is this?"

"You probably don't remember me. My name's Sandra O'Hare. You helped me out with a little problem a few years back."

It wasn't everyday that I gave out my number to people I'd helped on a case. Heck, I'd probably only done it two or three times. However, as soon as she said her name, I knew exactly who she was.

"I remember. You ok?"

"I… no… not really. It's my little girl, Jessie. Something's wrong." I could all but see her tugging at the ends of her hair in worry. "She's in the hospital but the doctors don't know what it is. I'm worried it's something… else."

When I'd first met Sandra, it was her daughter who drove me to give Sandra my number, urging her to call if she needed anything. All thoughts of sugary goodness fled when I asked, "Where are you?"

"Fitchburg, Wisconsin."

Good. Not too far out. "I can get to you in a few hours. I'll meet you at the hospital." I ended the call and hit the gas.

Four years ago, I'd dealt with a poltergeist wreaking havoc in Sandra's home. Nothing extraordinary happened on the case, there was no real reason for the case to stick in my mind like it had. It was her daughter, though. Looking at her daughter Jessie was like looking at a ghost. She bore a striking similarity to a ghost of my own past. I just hoped seeing her again wouldn't bring the ghost back to life.

Fitchburg was eerily quiet. Not quite a ghost town but something wasn't right. I got to the hospital and headed for the front desk.

"Raelynn."

I turned at the sound of my name. Sandra strode towards me, a little boy on her hip. This must be her son. She didn't have him the last time I saw her. When she reached me, she wrapped her free arm around me. "Oh, thank you so much for coming. I didn't know what else to do."

"What happened?"

The son peeked out at me from where he had tried to hide his face in his mother's neck. He bore the same deep brown eyes as his mother and sister.

"I don't know," Sandra said. "No one really does. Come with me. I don't like to be away from her for too long."

We took the elevator to the third floor. Sandra led me to a window overlooking a room with half a dozen kids lying in beds. All sleeping. All attached to machines.

"I went to get her up, get her ready for school but she wouldn't wake up. Even after everything we went through before, I have never been so scared in my life."

Jessie lay there, catatonic. She must have been about ten years old now. She should have been ripe with life. Not laying there like that.

"I'm sorry. Really. But what makes you think this is something I can help with?"

"The doctors have no idea what's going on. Their best guess is pneumonia. They're saying that I must have left her window open. It's not pneumonia. She's been lying in here for nearly a week and nothing's working. And I've heard from other parents, whatever this is, it's working it's way through siblings. Kids only."

It did sound strange. But then again, what did I know? Could there have been a medical reason for all of this?

"I haven't been home yet," Sandra continued. "I don't want to leave my girl and I'm scared for Robin." She pressed a kiss to the boy's head.

Was there something to what she was saying? Or was this just a mother, frantically trying to find any way to help her kid? Either way, I knew I had to do something. "Look, this may not be anything… else. I'll see what I can find out, but it might just be something medical. I can't make any promises."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm just grateful you came."

"Alright. I'll be back when I know more."

First stop was to talk to the doctor. A nurse informed me that Dr Hydecker was in charge of the children's care. She gave me directions to where the doctor was currently beginning his rounds. As I rounded the corner, I bumped into something. Or rather someone.

"Sorry, I…" My words stopped dead when I looked into the face of the person who'd rammed into me. Yeah, I was blaming him now. I sighed. "Ok, I give up. You guys are stalking me aren't you?"

Dean's hazel eyes lit up in amusement. "Well hey there, Princess."

"You know my name now, you can use it."

"Whatever you say, Short Stack," he said with that damn wink.

"Why do I even bother?" I turned to the more bearable of the two brothers and a small smile naturally fell on my lips. "How are you Sam?"

"I'm good. You look liked you've healed up well."

"Yeah." Not that I'd ever want a reminder that a group of hillbillies had done a number on me, but thankfully I'd had no lasting damage. My thigh still ached a bit every now and then, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. "You here about the kids?"

"Yeah," Sam replied. "What do you know?"

"Not much. I just got here."

"Well according to the doctor, they don't know much either. They thought it was some type of pneumonia but the kids aren't responding to antibiotics."

So not much more than what Sandra had told me. This wasn't a lot to go on. "I know one of the parents. She called me and got me down here. Apparently, according to her, whatever's happening, it's working its way through siblings."

Dean and Sam eyed each other before Sam spoke. "We're on our way to talk to the most recent case. You coming?"

Dean raised a hand. "Hey, now. I'm sure Miss I'm-So-Territorial-Over-My-Cases won't want to steal our case right out from under us. Right, Princess?"

I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and shrugged. "I'm not here to steal anything. I'm here to lend a helping hand if you need it."

Dean stared at me for a second before his eyebrows shot up. "I solved it!" Sam and I looked at him quizzically. "Aliens. Body-snatching aliens." More stunned silence from Sam and I. "Well, come on. How else would you explain the lack of sass from her?"

"Were you born an ass or did you just grow into one?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, I was born with this perfectly sculpted a—"

"Let's go talk to the parent, Sam." I spun away from Dean, Sam on my heels, but I still heard Dean's muttering.

"And there goes the interrupting. Guess it is her."

The doctor had told the boys where to find the parent of the most recent admission. When he left the room to sit in a chair in the hall, I was sure a slight gust of wind would knock him down. The man looked haggard. Distraught. I hung back to let the guys handle him. I'd meant it when I said I was ok being a helping hand.

"I should get back to my girls," he said.

"We understand that, and we really appreciate you talking to us." I'd almost forgotten just how sensitive and caring Sam was. He put the guy totally at ease. That was the Sam Winchester magic. "Now you say Mary is the oldest?"

"Thirteen," said the man.

Sam continued, "Ok. And she came down with it first, right? And then..."

"Bethany, the next night."

Did that normally happen with pneumonia? Would be one hell of a coincidence. But we had rooms full of unconscious kids.

"Within twenty-four hours?" Sam asked.

"I guess. Look, I, uh, I already went through all this with the doctor."

"Just a few more questions if you don't mind," Dean said. His tone equally as calming as his brother's. "How do you think they caught pneumonia? Were they out in the cold, anything like that?"

"No. We think it was an open window."

"Both times?" Dean asked.

"The first time, I, I don't really remember but the second time for sure. And I know I closed it before I put Bethany to bed."

"So you think she opened it?" Sam asked.

"It's a second story window with a ledge. No one else could've."

At that, the man returned to his daughters. There was a moment while we all stood, clearly lost in our own thoughts, trying to connect the dots that would give us some sort of reasonable answer. I didn't know about the boys, but I couldn't find one. The pneumonia excuse just wasn't sitting right with me.

Sam broke the silence as we began walking down the hall. "You know this might not be anything supernatural. It might just be pneumonia."

"Maybe," Dean said. "Or maybe something opened that window. I don't know man, look, Dad sent us down here for a reason. I think we might be barking up the right tree."

I couldn't see John Winchester steering his boys wrong. And I was usually right to trust my gut. How could all of these kids have caught pneumonia? What? They all had open bedroom windows? Every single one of them? Well… all except one. I stopped, grabbing Sam's arm. "The mother I spoke to, she has a younger son, who seems absolutely fine. You don't think it's a little weird that this pneumonia has run its way through a whole load of siblings, yet the one kid who hasn't caught it, hasn't left his mother's sight? I call bullshit."

Sam and Dean looked pensive. Sam nodded. "I'll tell you one thing."

"What?" Dean asked.

"That guy we just talked to? I'm betting it'll be a while before he goes home."

Ah, nothing like a little breaking and entering to start the week off right.

I pulled up behind the Impala outside the two-story home. Before I could get out of the car, Dean was tapping on my window.

"What?" I asked.

Dean motioned for me to roll my window down. I obliged, with a roll of my eyes of course.

He leaned a hand against the truck's roof. "Could you park a little further down the street?"

"Why?" I asked warily.

"I don't want Baby getting upset at having to be in the presence of this piece of—"

With as much force as I could muster, I pushed my door open, slamming it into Dean's body. He cried out with an "Oof."

"You're an idiot," I muttered as I closed the door and walked away, heading to the house.

Sam and I got in through the back door—Dean eventually caught up, rubbing his stomach and an evil glare directed my way. He only had himself to blame. My truck was the only thing of value I had in my life—not that it was technically worth much. Talk trash about it and suffer the consequences, Deany.

We climbed the stairs and went our separate ways; the boys taking one of the girls' rooms, while I took the other. I swept the room with my EMF reader, searching for any sign of something supernatural. I didn't see a single thing; the EMF reader didn't go off a single time.

"Hey guys!" Sam's voice sounded from the other room.

When I got into the bedroom, Sam and Dean were stood by the open window. "You were right. It's not pneumonia."

I walked closer and peered down. A handprint was branded into the wood. Whatever it was that had laid that print had rotted the wood away.

"What the hell leaves a handprint like that?"

Good question, Sammy. "I've never seen anything like that before."

Dean stood, leaning against the window ledge. His eyes were unblinking, like he was lost in his own world.

"Dean?" I asked.

"I know why Dad sent us here," he said before raising his head. "He's faced this thing before. He wants us to finish the job." He began to walk off. If I wasn't going crazy, he looked a little sick.

"You're just gonna leave us hanging like that?" I asked to his back.

He paused. Not turning around. "It's a Shtriga." Then Dean walked out of the room.

I called out to his retreating form, "Oh, ok. Thank you so much for clearing that up for us! Now it all makes sense!" I huffed before turning to Sam. "What's eating him?"

Sam was clearly worried about his brother, if the furrowed brows were anything to go by. "I don't know," he replied before he too walked off.

"Winchesters," I muttered.

Lights began to line the streets as the sun set. As I once again drove behind the boys in the Impala on the way to a motel, I called Sandra.

"You were right," I said as she answered.

"Oh God. I don't know whether to be happy about that or not." There was a moment's hesitation. "What is it?"

"I'm not exactly sure yet. But it may be a good idea for you to skip town for a bit."

"No!" The word shot from her mouth like a bullet. "I'm not leaving Jessie. I can't abandon my baby."

"I get that. But you also need to think of Robin." The memory of those dark brown eyes peering from the hollow of his mother's neck, bled conviction into my words. "If it's hunting through siblings then he's not safe. I know you don't want to leave Jessie, but right now, there's nothing you can do for her. Unless you can keep an eye on him twenty-four-seven, without going home, then he's at risk. Please trust me on this."

Shaky breathing was my only response.

"Sandra?"

"Ok."

"You'll go?"

"Only if I have to." Despair laced her voice. "But you have to promise me one thing. Promise me you won't let anything happen to my girl."

A dagger pierced my heart. The sudden pain was so sharp I raised a hand to rub over my chest. How could I promise her something like that? I was the last person she should be entrusting the life of her daughter to. If something happened to her on my watch, how the hell was I supposed to live with myself? I barely got through it the first time I'd let someone down.

"Promise me," she repeated.

"I can't do that."

"Then I can't go." Her words were firm.

How was I supposed to win this? If she left and something happened to Jessie, it would be all my fault. If she stayed and something happened to Robin… same outcome. I couldn't hold the life of a kid in my hands, let alone two. But was Jessie in any more danger from this Shtriga thing? Maybe not.

"Fine," I said reluctantly. "I'll watch over her. I promise. Just get Robin out of town. Tonight."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Ok. You'll call me if anything happens? Anything."

"Sure. Now get yourself gone." I put the phone down, unable to take any more of the conversation, not with these emotions rising up in me. Thankfully, Dean was pulling into the motel. All three of us climbed from our vehicles, and I wandered over to the boys.

"We're here now," Sam was saying. "So what the hell is a Shtriga?"

Dean walked around to the trunk of the car and opened it. "It's... kinda like a witch, I think. I don't know much about 'em."

"Well I've never heard of it," Sam said.

"Me neither," I said as I Ieaned against the car. With a scathing glower aimed my way at the move, I straightened up, hands raised in surrender. Jeez.

"And it's not in Dad's journal," Sam continued.

"Dad hunted one in Fort Douglas, Wisconsin, about sixteen, seventeen years ago. You were there. You don't remember?"

"No." Sam's eyes were pinched. Tension was knotting between the brothers again, so I decided to keep my mouth shut and simply observe.

"And I guess he caught wind of the things in Fitzburg now and kicked us the coordinates."

"So wait, this..."

"Shtriga," Dean added.

"Right. You think it's the same one Dad hunted before?"

"Yeah, maybe."

Dean began to walk to the front desk, but Sam wasn't far behind. "But if Dad went after it why is it still breathing air?"

"Cause it got away," Dean said like it was obvious.

"Got away?"

"Yeah Sammy it happens," Dean said. The first signs of frustration slipping into his tone.

Sam scoffed. "Not very often."

"Well I don't know what to tell ya. Maybe Dad didn't have his Wheaties that morning." I didn't think Dean's attempt at a joke was going to satiate Sam.

"What else do you remember?" The suspicious, disbelieving note of his words told me I was right.

"Nothin'," Dean growled defensively. "I was a kid all right?" With that he opened the door and stormed inside.

I moved from the side of the car and stood beside Sam. Both of us gazed at him talking to a kid behind the desk. "Ok, I don't profess to knowing Dean all that well, but I do know he just lied his ass off."

With that, I entered headed towards the front desk, to get a room of my own.

I joined the boys in their room once I'd had a shower. It seemed like I wasn't the only one who had finally invested in a laptop; when I entered the room, Sam was settled on the bed, opening his own. No more scouring around town looking for computers to use. Welcome to the twenty-first century! I settled down at the small table in the corner of the room and got to work.

It took us about half an hour for Sam and I to find any sort of information about these creatures. But I was more concerned about how to actually kill it. Sandra's promise was already weighing down on me. And so far? I'd found nothing.

"Well, you were right," Sam said with a smile. "It wasn't very easy to find but you were right. Shtriga is a kind of witch. They're Albanian, but legends about them trace back to Ancient Rome. They feed off spiritus vitae."

"Spiri-what?" Dean asked from across the room where he was taking notes from a pile of books.

"Vitae. It's Latin, translates to 'breath of life'. Kinda like your life force or essence."

"Didn't the doctor say the kids' bodies were wearing out?"

"It's a thought: she takes your vitality maybe your immunity goes to hell, pneumonia takes hold," Sam answered. "Anyway, Shtrigas can feed off anyone but they prefer..."

"Children," Dean and I said in unison. Our eyes met across the room for a split second before I looked away. Please don't tell me I was going to start doing that too. I'd obviously been hanging around the Winchesters too much. Great.

"Yeah," Sam continued oblivious to my internal despair. "Probably because they have stronger life force. And get this. Shtrigas are 'invulnerable to all weapons devised by God and man.'"

"No, that's not right."

"Erm, yeah… it is." I was standing firm by what Sam had said. "I've been looking for the answer to that specific question for close to an hour now. Everywhere is saying the same thing. There's no weapon that can hurt them. Which all translates to us being screwed." No, that wasn't right. It was the kids, it was Jessie, that were going to pay the price if we didn't pull our heads out of our asses.

"She's vulnerable when she feeds." Dean strode towards the bed and retrieved another notebook from his bag.

"What?" Sam asked.

"If you catch her when she's eating, you can blast her with consecrated wrought iron. Uh, buckshots or rounds I think."

"How do you know that?" I asked. "Did it say that it in one of your books?"

Dean shook his head but wouldn't make eye contact. "My dad told me. I remember."

"Huh," Sam muttered. "So uh, anything else Dad might have mentioned?"

"Nope, that's it."

I looked between the two brothers. Dean was definitely hiding shit from his brother. That was clear as day to see. Sam knew it too.

"What?" Dean was completely unfazed by Sam's clear suspicion

"Nothing." Sam looked back down to his computer and turned it off but I caught the sight of hurt in his eyes. "Okay," he said, rising from the bed. "So, assuming we can kill it when it eats, we still gotta find the thing first, which ain't gonna be a cakewalk. Shtrigas take on a human disguise when they're not hunting."

"What kinda human disguise?" Dean asked.

"Historically, something innocuous," I said. "Could be anything, but it's usually a feeble old woman, which might be how the witches as old crones legend got started."

Dean crossed the room. "Hang on." He grabbed a map and brought it to the bench he'd been working at. I joined the brothers to see what Dean was talking about. "Check this out. I marked down all the addresses of the victims. Now these are the houses that have been hit so far, and dead center?"

"The hospital," Sam and I said in unison. Dammit.

"The hospital," Dean repeated. "Now when we were there, I saw a patient, an old woman."

"An old person huh?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

"In a hospital? Phew." Sam shook his head playfully and couldn't hide his sniggering. "Better call the Coast Guard."

I couldn't stop my own chuckle.

"Well listen, smart-ass, she had an inverted cross hanging on her wall."

Sam's smile dropped instantly. Dean raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sooo?" I asked, breaking the tense silence.

They both turned to look at me.

"What? We gonna smoke an old lady because of her décor choices?"

"You're really about to smoke an old lady. This is the worst idea you've ever had," I whispered as we walked down the halls of the corridor. This had disaster written all over it.

"What old ladies do you know that have an inverted cross hanging on their wall?" Dean whispered back, eyes scanning every door we passed.

"I told you Dean, there could be a whole number of reasons for that. Maybe someone just brushed past it, and it got knocked upside down."

"Seriously?"

I gave him a 'well… duh' look. "Yeah, seriously."

The three of us stopped, pulling back instantly at the sound of voices.

"Good night, Dr Hydecker."

"See you tomorrow, Betty." At the sound of the doctor's voice we spun around to face the way we came, hoping he wouldn't notice us. Totally not suspicious looking at all.

"Try to get some sleep," the nurse said.

Thankfully the doctor carried on past us down the hall.

"We're so going to Hell," I muttered as Dean led us to the room of the supposed crazy witch lady.

Sam put his hand on the handle, as Dean drew his gun. "Oh here we go," I said.

Sam opened the door and Dean led the way in. The woman in question was sitting in a wheelchair, facing away from the door. The upside down crucifix was hanging next to her on the wall. Ok, so it looked like a scene out of a horror film, but I still wasn't entirely sure that was a good enough reason to put a bullet in the woman's head.

Dean slowly approached the woman and Sam drew his gun. When Dean reached the wheelchair, he slowly, ever so slowly, began to bend down to her. My heart was beating double-time.

"Who the hell are you?!" The old lady suddenly called out. We all jumped back at once. I wasn't too proud to admit that a scream got lodged in my throat. "Who's there? You trying to steal my stuff? They're always stealing around here," she muttered to herself with a gruff voice.

Sam turned the lights on. "No! Ah, ma'am, we're maintenance. We're sorry. We thought you were sleeping."

I buried my head in my hands.

"Ahhh, nonsense. I was sleeping with my peepers open." She laughed. "And fix that crucifix, would ya? I've asked four damn times already!"

As one, we all looked to the cross. With a single swipe of his finger, Dean swung the crucifix the right way up. I tilted my head at him. It was my turn to raise my eyebrows.

"We're really sorry ma'am." Sam said. "We'll let you get back to resting."

At that, we hightailed it out the door, closing it firmly behind us. That went as well as could be expected.

"Don't say it. Do NOT say it," Dean muttered to me as we swiftly walked back down the corridor.

I couldn't help it. I really couldn't. "Told ya so."

The whole journey back was full of belly-aching laughs. At least from me and Sam. Dean? Not so much.

"I was sleeping with my peepers open?" Sam chuckled as we got out of the Impala at the motel.

"I actually almost smoked that old girl, I swear. It's not funny!"

"Dean," I said, sniggering. "Your face… it was… it was priceless."

"Yeah, laugh it off," he grumbled. "Now we're back to square one."

Just as Sam was about to unlock the door, Dean said, "Hold on." He walked over to a boy sitting on a bench on the other side of the parking lot. It was the son of the woman who ran the motel and booked the rooms for myself and Dean.

"Hey what's wrong?" Dean asked him, crouching down to his level.

The boy had tears slowly falling down his face. "My brother's sick."

"The little guy?"

The boy nodded. "Pneumonia. He's in the hospital."

My heart broke in that instant. We'd been so busy laughing at what had happened with the old lady, while this kid was in pieces at what had happened to his brother. The guilt landed in my stomach like an anchor.

"It's my fault," he continued.

"Ah c'mon, how?" Dean asked.

"I shoulda made sure the window was latched. He wouldn't have got pneumonia if the window was latched."

No. My heart broke in that moment. A kid that young shouldn't ever have to carry that kind of guilt.

"It's not your fault. At all," I said firmly.

Dean put a hand on the kid's shoulder. "She's right."

"But it's my job to look after him."

Just then, his mother came rushing out of the door, hands full of bags and blankets. "Michael, I want you to turn on the no vacancy sign while I'm gone. I've got Denise covering room service so don't bother with any of the rooms."

Michael stood up from the bench. "I'm going with you."

"Not now, Michael." His mother was flustered. Not that I could blame her.

"But I gotta see Asher!"

"Hey Michael. Hey." Dean interrupted Michael's insistent begging. "I know how you feel—I'm a big brother too—but you gotta go easy on your Mom right now, ok?"

As Michael's mom closed the trunk, her handbag slipped out of her hands and onto the ground. "Dammit!"

Before I could move to pick it up, Sam was already there. "I got it." Ever the gentleman.

"Thank you," the mom said in response.

"Listen, you're in no condition to drive. Why don't you let me give you a lift to the hospital?" Dean had his own moment of being a gentleman. Guess I was a little surprised, but something had definitely rocked him with this case. And he wasn't the only one.

"No, I couldn't possibly..."

"No, it's no trouble," Dean said. "I insist."

"Thanks." Dean took the keys from her hand and she turned to her son. "Be good."

After Dean closed the car door after her, he walked up to me and Sam, speaking quietly. "We're gonna kill this thing. I want it dead, you hear me?"

I was torn. Part of me wanted to go to the hospital, to keep my promise to look after Jessie, but I didn't know if I could stomach just sitting around watching these kids, not knowing if they'd ever wake up. No, I couldn't do it.

"Hey, Dean. Wait." I jogged up to him just as he was about to open the driver's door. "Can you do me a favour? There's a girl there—Jessie O'Hare—could you check in on her for me? Just make sure she's ok. Please."

Whatever Dean read on my face, whatever he saw in my eyes, he knew I needed this from him. With a single nod he said, "Of course." Then he climbed into the car and drove off.

The three of us stood there watching the car disappear round the corner before Sam pulled me to one side. "We haven't gotten far with the research. We should head to the library and check the records for any similar cases. We gotta find the person the Shtriga's disguising themselves as."

"Yeah, we do." But my eyes were on Michael. He was still standing in the same spot, still staring at the corner where the car had driven away. He looked so helpless. An invisible thread was pulling me towards him. "I'll stay and watch the kid," I said to Sam. "I'll try and extend the research online. Call me if you need me."

"Ok. I will." Sam looked between me and Michael and with a final nod of his own, he headed back to the Impala.

I walked over to Michael. "Hey. I know it's hard but try not to worry." There wasn't any sign he heard me. "Dean's there now anyway. I know sometimes he walks around like a grumpy ogre, but he's really good at taking care of people." Still nothing. I laid my hand on his shoulder, trying to wash away any fear or guilt I could from him. "Want me to teach you how to cheat at poker?"

A small hint of a smile rose on his face.

Michael was funny. He enjoyed recounting his first encounter with Dean and how annoyed he'd looked. Michael was also strangely a natural when it came to poker. But no matter how many games we played or how many jokes we shared, the worry for his brother was never too far behind. I hadn't heard from Dean about Asher or Jessie. But I figured no news was good news. I'd taken a few breaks from drawing hands in the card games to catch up on some research, but I couldn't find anything that would lead us closer to the Shtriga.

"Boom! A full house!" Michael said just as the bell for the front desk rang.

"Stay here," I said to Michael as I headed for the front desk.

Sam was leaning there. He looked like he might burst from the energy he was trying to reign in. "We got him."

"Who is it?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

"Good old Doctor Hydecker."

I was stunned. He'd been right in front of us the whole time. Not only in front of us, but at the bedside of the children he'd put there. He'd comforted the parents of his victims. It made me sick. It didn't matter how Sam had found out, all that mattered was ending him. "He's a dead man."

Sam smiled. "I thought that was the plan."

"No, I'm not talking about buckshots or rounds of consecrated iron. I'm going to tear that son of a bitch to pieces."

I'd left Michael with strict instructions: come running if there was any sign of trouble—I think he thought I was a little crazy after that one—and to not go to sleep until there was someone with him—at that I was pretty sure he was debating if he should have spent that last couple of hours in my company. Still. As long as he listened to what I said, it didn't matter.

Sam, Dean and I were pacing around the boys' room, itching to get our hands on the doctor.

"We should have thought of this before," Sam said. "A doctor's a perfect disguise. You're trusted, you can control the whole thing."

Dean took off his jacket, throwing it down. "That son of a bitch."

"My thought exactly," I muttered as I sat at the table, cleaning my gun. Like I said, we were all itching to get our hands on him.

"I'm surprised you didn't draw on him right there," Sam said to Dean.

"Yeah well, first of all, I'm not going to open fire in a freakin' paediatrics ward."

"Good call," muttered Sam.

"Second, wouldn't have done any good," Dean continued his ranting, "because the bastard's bullet proof unless he's chowing down on something. And third, I wasn't packing, which is probably a really good thing cause I probably would have just burned a clip in him on principle alone."

I understood his rage all too well. Cases were different when the victims were kids. And when you had the monster responsible right under your nose the whole time? It stung.

"You're getting wise in your old age Dean," said Sam.

"Damn right. Cause now I know how we're going to get it."

I froze. Don't say what I think you're going to.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"The Shtriga works through siblings, right?" Dean asked.

My pulse began to pound in my ears.

"Right."

"Well last night…"

"It went after Asher," Sam finished.

"So, I'm thinking tonight, it's probably gonna come after Michael."

The pulse pounded so loudly, it was like I was swimming under water. This wasn't going to happen. I couldn't let it happen. Not again.

"Well we gotta get him outta here!" Sam exclaimed.

"No. No, that would blow the whole deal."

"What?"

"Yeah."

All I could picture was her. The screams she made. The blood. And it all happened on my watch. I was supposed to protect her.

"You wanna use the kid as bait?" Sam asked. "Are you nuts? No! Forget it. That's out of the question."

"It's not out of the question Sam, it's the only way. If this thing disappears it could be years before we get another chance."

I saw red. I threw down the rag, stood up, pointing my gun at Dean.

"Whoa, Rae. Put the gun down."

I paid no attention to Sam's plea. Instead, I stared, unblinking, at Dean. He should have been more worried that I had a gun pointed at him. "We're not using him as bait. End of discussion." My words were calm; so in opposition to the rage I was feeling.

"We don't have a choice." Dean spoke just as calmly. "Now put the gun down. You're not gonna shoot me anyway."

I took the safety off. The click echoed around the room. "You really think so? I don't have a reason not to."

Sam started to speak. "Rae—"

"It's ok, Sam." Dean cut him off and took two steps towards me. "The Shtriga feeds on kids. We can only kill it when it's ready to feed. Those are the facts. If we don't do this now, the Shtriga gets away. And whatever kids get sick, or die after… then that's because of us. Can you live with that?"

Could I live with that? I'd been living with it. Every waking moment. Every sleeping moment. I lived with the consequences of my actions, of someone getting hurt on my watch. She was so small, she…

My vision darkened. My chest tightened.

I put down the gun and dashed out of the room. I sat on the bench Michael had been on earlier, put my head in my hands and tried to concentrate on my breathing. I hadn't experienced an attack that bad in a while. I shouldn't have been surprised. This case brought up too many memories.

Eventually the ground stopped tilting and my breathing returned to something close to normal. I shouldn't have reacted like that, but I was pissed. Maybe more at myself than at Dean. More pissed at my past than the present or what might happen in the future.

I sat there in the cold, enjoying its numbing effect. Dean appeared a while later, scanning the parking lot before spotting me on the bench. He slowly made his way over to me. Get ready for round two.

Dean sat down next to me. Silence filled the void between us. Seriously, what was the point of coming out here? I wasn't going to apologise, even if I may have been in the wrong. If he wasn't going to—

"It's my fault," he said, breaking me out of my tirade.

"What are you talking about?"

Dean answered without looking at me. He simply stared across the parking lot. "My dad was hunting the Shtriga back when we were kids. All I had to do was follow dad's orders and look out for Sammy. But I didn't." He sighed deeply, as if freeing himself of the secret he'd obviously been carrying around all case. "And because of me, Sammy got hurt, nearly worse, and the Shtriga got away."

That explained Dean's behaviour. Looked like we'd both been put out of sorts this case because of our pasts. "Does Sam know?"

"He does now."

I kind of felt sorry for him. Which was a first. Who'd have ever thought I'd empathise with Dean Winchester? "You were only a kid." And I'd meant it. It didn't make sense for him to pin the blame on himself. But that would make me a massive hypocrite if I said that.

Dean chuckled, but without humour. "No matter how many excuses you throw at a situation, it doesn't stop the guilt from eating at you." He turned to look at me, dead in the eyes. "Does it?"

My breath caught. No one had ever called me out as he was doing now. And I knew exactly what he was doing. Digging. Knowing that I had something I was hiding too.

"What happened?" he asked.

I always kept my past locked down tight, but somehow Dean, with only a few words and a look, was drawing it out of me. I took a deep breath, hardly believing the words I was about to utter to another. "Someone I knew, someone I cared about a lot, got hurt on my watch. She was… she was killed."

"A kid?"

I nodded.

"Yours?"

"No." Not in the way he meant it at least.

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm sorry."

Again, I could only nod. Speaking about it, even without any details, hurt. As the silence grew once more, I watched the birds flying through the air. So at peace. Without any worries to hold them back.

"Remember that case back in Rockford, Illinois?"

Huh? What was he talking about? Talk about changing the subject. "The asylum?" I asked.

"Yeah. I'm sorry for that too."

I was sure my confusion was clear on my face.

"After the case, when Sam and I had a… disagreement, I took it out on you. I said some things that I shouldn't have and I'm sorry for that."

Holy Hell. I had not been expecting anything like this from Dean. He really was off his game this case. Or maybe this was the real Dean. At this point, I had no idea.

"You're a damn good hunter," he continued. "Don't let your past make you think otherwise." I should have been breaking down at Dean's reassurances or leaping with joy. Something. But there was still this heavy weight in my stomach that kept me numb. Yet, for some reason, it was hard hearing this kindness come from Dean. "The three of us can protect that boy better than anyone. Now, I don't want to do this anymore than you do, even if you think otherwise. But I really don't think we have a true choice here."

I sat and contemplated what he was saying, and the truth hit me that he was right. If we didn't use Michael to help draw out the Shtriga, it would be another kid, hundreds of other kids that suffered the consequences.

I nodded slowly then rose from the bench. "I'm gonna go back to your motel room. I don't think I can be there when you ask him to help."

"Fair enough."

I started to walk away before Dean called out. "Hey."

I spun back around to face him.

"Seeing as we're on the topic of apologies… holding that gun on me wasn't very nice."

"Seriously?"

"Yep. That really hurt my feelings, Princess." He brought out the best puppy-dog eyes he could muster. And I was sure that was a pout on his lips.

I chuckled. "Well, there's no point in me apologising. You'll probably drive me to do it again in the future." I turned back around to continue walking. "And don't call me Princess. Asshole."

I walked across the parking lot; Dean's laughter ringing out behind me, and a smile on my face. Guess I wasn't as numb as I thought.

Back in the motel, I sat reading books the boys had left strewn about. Ok, I wasn't actually reading, but I tried to keep myself busy. My foot was jigging up and down as I waited for Sam and Dean to return from talking with Michael.

Five minutes later, they came back.

"How did it go?" I asked. Half hoping Michael had turned them down flat, even if that left us scratching our heads, trying to figure out what to do next.

"Crappy. Now what?" Dean asked.

Guess I kinda jinxed that.

"What did you expect?" Sam asked. "You can't ask an adult to do something like that, much less a kid."

Before I could put in my two cents, there was a knock at the door. We all got up, knowing who it probably was. Sure enough, Michael was stood on the other side of the now open door.

"If you kill it, will Asher get better?" There was a new-found determination on Michael's face.

"Honestly? We don't know." I was grateful that Dean didn't flat-out lie to him.

"You said you were a big brother."

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"You'd take care of your little brother? You'd do anything for him?"

"Yeah, I would."

Then Michael turned to face me. "You said he was good at taking care of people."

Why did I suddenly feel like a kid caught with their hands in the cookie jar? I could sense Dean and Sam smirking at me. "Erm… yeah. I guess I did."

Michael nodded and I knew his decision was made. "I'll help."

I prayed to whoever, or whatever, was out there that we hadn't made the wrong call.

Night had fallen once again and Dean was setting up a night vision camera in Michael's room. I was sat on Michael's bed, just hoping that a close presence would keep him calm, because the nerves were starting to show—even though he was trying to put on a brave face.

"What do I do?"

Dean finished placing the camera where Sam was happy with it, then strode over to the bed and sat down on the opposite side to me. "Just stay under the covers."

"And if it shows up?" Michael's voice began to tremble.

"We'll be right in the next room." Dean did his best to reassure him. "We're gonna come in with guns. So, as soon as we do, you roll off this bed and—"

"I'll come get you straight out of there." That was my one priority tonight. Above everything else. Nothing could happen to Michael.

"What if you shoot me?" Michael asked.

"We won't shoot you. We're good shots. We're not going to fire until you're clear and out of the room with Rae, ok?"

Michael nodded slowly, looking more scared at the prospect of being shot than at being a monster's dinner.

Dean could see it too. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

Michael didn't respond, so I added, "You don't have to. It's ok. We won't be mad."

Michael finally shook his head. "No, I'm ok. Just don't shoot me."

"We're not going to let anything happen to you. We promise," Dean said.

Man, I hated making promises. We left Michael to get as comfortable as possible, then headed out.

Over three hours later, Sam, Dean and I were sat outside Michael's bedroom door, eyes glued to the laptop that had the live feed from inside the bedroom.

"What time is it?" Dean asked.

"Three," Sam replied.

Looked like we'd been sitting here closer to five hours then. Time flew when you were dying from anxiety.

"You sure these iron rounds are gonna work?" asked Sam.

"Consecrated iron rounds," Dean corrected. "And yeah, it's what Dad used last time."

"Hey Dean, I'm sorry," said Sam.

Guess it really was the day for apologies.

"For what?"

"You know, I've really given you a lot of crap, for always following Dad's orders. But I know why you do it."

"Oh, God," Dean muttered. "Kill me now."

Sam and I laughed quietly. My laugh cut off when I saw a shadow move in the bedroom window.

"Guys. It's here."

Simultaneously, we all picked up our guns. I moved to stand right beside the bedroom door, so I'd be ready within a split second to get to Michael as soon as Dean gave the signal.

"Now?" Sam asked.

"Not yet."

Time dragged on. "Dean!" I hissed.

"Ok, go, move!"

I burst into the room. "Hey!" The Shtriga lifted its head from Michael at my shout. "Michael, move!"

Michael dove to the floor and I cowered down, covering his body as Sam and Dean began to fire at the Shtriga. Michael and I kept as low to the ground as possible until we got back out into the sitting room and I ordered him to stay in the corner. "Don't move until one of us tells you." I put my back to him, raising my gun.

There was a loud crash, followed by Sam calling out Dean's name. Within seconds, there was another loud thud. The bedroom was quiet. I was torn between staying at Michael's side, and going to help the boys. Damnnit. Like Dean said, sometimes we really didn't have a true choice.

"Stay there," I said to Michael as I crept towards the bedroom, gun still drawn and ready.

I turned into the room. The Shtriga was on top of Sam, a blinding blue light shining from it's mouth.

"Hey!" Dean and I shouted.

The Shtriga looked up and Dean and I shot it together. It fell to the floor, unmoving.

"You ok little brother?" Dean asked from his position on the floor. Blood was oozing from a wound on his head.

Sam nodded in response, getting unsteadily to his feet and holding up two thumbs.

Dean got up and stumbled over to the Shtriga. Once he was standing over it, he put three more bullets into its body. Wisps of smoke escaped it and it turned to blackened ash in front of us.

"Michael, you can come out now," I called out to him. When he entered the room, a grateful smile crossed his face. Dean put his hand on his shoulder and returned the gesture.

It was done.

I grabbed my bag from my bed and headed out the room—the room in which I'd only managed a couple of quick catnaps in.

When I got outside, I spotted Dean and Sam walking over to Michael's mom. She was beaming as she got out of her car. Looked like Asher was better. That meant I had a phone call to make. As I opened my car door, Dean caught my eye. He titled his head in invitation for me to join them. With everything that had happened and everything that had been going through my mind, I needed a breather. Dean had got a sneak peek into something that caused me endless grief, no matter how many years had passed. I needed a little bit of space from him. Instead of heading over, I smiled and saluted him. Then I mouthed 'sorry', miming a gun with my hand and got into the car. See? I could totally apologise when I was in the wrong. Sort of. As I drove away, I glanced into my rear-view mirror to see Dean still watching my car.

Rather than think too much about the Winchesters, and the foreboding feeling I suddenly had about how my relationship—for the lack of a better word—with a certain Winchester had changed during this case, I got out my phone and called Sandra.

I could have kept driving. Maybe I should have. But instead I found myself pulling up outside the hospital. I followed my steps from my first visit here, until I found myself outside Jessie's room. She was sitting up in bed, her curly blonde hair falling down around her perfectly, and the sight of her caused a pang in my chest. She looked so grown up now. It would probably be just how Sophie would have looked if she hadn't—

Damn. I tried so hard not to think of her name too often. It just made it all the more real that she was no longer here with me. And then I'd find myself spiralling down a whirlpool of guilt and grief.

Instead of focusing on that, I walked into Jessie's room. She looked up at me as I approached her bed, her eyes swirling deep pools of chocolate.

"Hi Jessie. I'm a friend of your mum's. She's going to be here real soon and she's so happy you're awake." I cleared my throat. "You won't remember me but—"

"You're the lady that saved us from the scary monster in our house."

She remembered? The sense of relief, maybe even joy, struck me. "Erm, yeah."

"Did you save me again?" she asked.

"Well… I had a little help from my friends this time."

After a second's pause, she threw her arms around me.

The embrace knocked me for six. But I hugged her back as hard as she hugged me. It made me want to wrap my arms around Sophie. Yet I'd never be able to do that again. Even if I could be close to her, to visit her grave, it might offer me comfort, just like Jessie was doing now.

But Sophie's father had told me to stay away. That he'd kill me if he ever saw me again.

And I knew he meant every word.