It was down to this. Me, versus Bloody Mary, a spirit that no one really believed existed. Dean and Page had gone outside to check out the sirens and lights, and I was alone in the room. I stood in front of the mirror...the mirror, staring, waiting for her to come and face me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her. Bloody Mary. Skin as pale white as a wedding dress, and hair that looked like it had lost numerous fights with various gardening equipment. She looked clammy and disgusting, but I knew what I had to do. I hauled back and hit the mirror she was in with all my might, then watched as she moved into the next one. She wasn't going to make it easy, was she? I smashed that mirror as well, and turned back to face the mirror she was supposed to be in. "Come on. Come into this one," I whispered.

Wait...wait, my reflection? Wasn't moving anymore. He—I? I was staring at me and...I lowered my hand. My face. Was burning. I tried to say something, but...god, the pain. The crowbar I had in my hand, just...fell to the floor, and the pain. God, it was so intense. I brought my hand to my chest, then noticed a tad of moisture...a lot of moisture beneath my eyes. Blood. Fuck. "It's your fault. You killed her. You killed Jessica," my reflection spoke, and my eyes snapped up to stare. Fuck. It just...hurt. So fucking much. I gasped for air, and breathed in heavily. "You never told her the truth. Who you really were."

I fell to my knees on the floor, and tried to think. Tried to breathe. Tried to...anything. All I could come up with was to gasp for air again. And the words...I didn't. I...never told her who I was, and...God, I...could have saved her. I felt the blood curling down over my chin, and dripping onto my shirt, and I tried to think to respond, to defend myself, but nothing came to me. And...my reflection kept speaking to me. "But it's more than that, isn't it? Those nightmares you've been having of Jessica dying, screaming, burning. You had them for days before she died. Didn't you?"

I groaned, tried to bring myself to stand up, then tried to say something. Anything. Tried to bring myself out of whatever was happening. But before I could even send any body part a message, my reflection kept talking. "You were so desperate to be normal, to believe they were just dreams. How could you ignore them like that? How could you leave her alone to die? You dreamt it would happen! You dreamt about it and never even told anyone! And Page? What about Page?"

I felt my breath getting short, and my heartbeat getting quicker. This thing was going to kill me. I...had to...do something. "You WANTED to call her. You WANTED to tell her that something was going to happen to her family. You WANTED to, didn't you. But you never did. You could have saved her family, but you didn't, all because you wanted to be normal..." my reflection continued to taunt me. Fuck. It was true. It was all true, and I was going to die before I got the chance to right it. To tell Page that...I knew. What had happened. I gasped for air once more. "You have killed four people. FOUR people died because you're too SELFISH to use your abilities to help them..."

I was about to give in, because the reflection was right. I was horrible. But, the very second I felt like I couldn't take anymore, Dean appeared in the room, and smashed the mirror with the crowbar I'd dropped. And I felt Page's hand on my arm. She was staring at me, confused and concerned, and part of me wondered if she'd heard...any of that. But the concern looked like...normal Page concern. "Sammy? Sammy," Dean spoke.

"It's Sam..." I said simply, smiling as Page wiped some of the blood from my cheeks with her thumb.

"God...are you okay?" she asked in a shocked tone.

"Yeah," was all I could muster from my brain for them.

"Come on, come on..." Dean said, then helped me stand up, and the two of them led me toward the door.

Page was silent. She was...still getting used to all of this, because the look on her face was, just...scared. Worried about me. Me. She always thought about me first. I was about to say something to her, when...I think all three of us heard the sound of shattering glass from behind us. We all turned slowly, and...saw Mary climbing out of the mirror. Page was the only one who got a word out, and I think she said it best. "Shit..." she whispered, and after that, all three of us collapsed to the floor. Page cried out loud, and...Dean, thankfully, thought enough to grab one of the remaining mirrors and hold it up so that Mary was faced with her own reflection.

The voice on the other side of the mirror was feminine, and I put two and two together, assuming that it was Mary's. "You killed them. All those people. You killed them," and with that, she gasped deeply, and within a second, disintegrated to the floor. I let my head drop back, and looked over at Page.

But my train of thought was broken by Dean. "Hey...guys?" he spoke up slowly.

"Mmm?" Page mumbled simply.

"Yeah?" I asked.

Dean chuckled a little. "This has got to be, what, six-hundred years bad luck?" he asked us.

Page forced a laugh, but I let my head hit the floor again. I was in no mood for jokes. I glanced over at Page, who slowly pulled herself from the floor, then to Dean, who did the same. Both of them walked up to me and offered a hand to help me up. I took their hands, and they guided me out to the Impala, where we all just...sat for a second, before Dean took off, heading back for the hotel we were staying at. We walked through the door, and Dean...unceremoniously fell to the bed, leaving Page and I to talk. I turned to look at her.

She spoke up first, though. "You know, Sam..." she said, sitting with me at the table. "Whatever Mary said...to...get to you? Your secret? Whatever it was?" she asked me, swallowing hard. "Maybe...you should just...let it go. Maybe...you should just..." she shrugged. "I don't know. But..."

I shook my head. "Can...we talk out back? I...don't want Dean to wake up..." she stood up, and we walked to the back door, stepping outside together. She showed me a concerned, confused glance, and I nodded toward a bench. She followed me to it, and we sat. "Page. What I'm about to say...you probably...won't believe..."

She shrugged. "Try me..." she grinned a bit. "My beliefs and opinions have...widened over the past few months, anyway..." she reached up to my face and wiped an excess bit of blood away.

I swallowed hard. I had been afraid of that. "I...have these dreams. I...I don't know what causes them, right? But...they're about...these events...and, it's like...when I have them?" I paused and glanced at her. She...was listening intently. Like she was hanging from every word I said. "They...happen. I...had one about Jess. It was about...how she died."

She raised an eyebrow. "So, you're saying you're, like...some kind of psychic?"

I shook my head. "No, no..." I bit my lip. "But they're something. I mean, it always seems to happen, you know?" I shrugged. "I dream about it for a week or so...and...it happens," I told her, "but...I wanted to think that...it was just a dream, you know? And then I had it again. And again. And..."

"She didn't believe you?"

"I didn't tell her..." I said, barely above a whisper.

"Oh..." she looked away from me, and at one of the lights in a window of the building behind us.

"There's more..." I said in a softer tone. I watched as her attention turned back to me. "I...Jess wasn't the only time. I...had them...about another incident, too."

She raised an eyebrow and nodded her head. "What incident..."

I looked away from her, up to the sky, begging someone...anyone who was listening to help her find it in her heart to forgive me. "...that...night at your parents' house. I...dreamed a--"

"You...you what?"

I breathed in. "I..."

"You dreamed about my parents dying? And my brother? You dreamed about all of that? And..." she glared at me, sliding back on the bench, away from me. "You...didn't tell me about it?"

"Page, wait..."

She stood up. "No. No...this is...all of this shit is...too much to take, Sam...I..."

"Would you have believed me?" I asked her, a sharp tone coming to my voice, and I realized that it was a little louder than I might have liked, and lowered it a bit. She'd stopped. But not turned back toward me. "If I had called you at three a.m., to tell you that I'd had a premonition in a dream, of your parents and brother dying...the way they did...would you have believed me, Page? Honestly?"

She blinked her eyes. "I..." she paused, then turned her head and looked at me. "No. No, I probably wouldn't have..." she looked at me. "But..." I saw her eyes welling up. "I...don't know..." she took a step toward me. "I...just...shit, why do things like this..." she hugged me, and didn't even finish her sentence. But she didn't need to. I knew what she was going to say.

I ran a hand through her hair. "I don't know. But..." I watched as she looked up at me. "We'll make it pay, all right? We will. Let's just..." I nodded back toward the hotel room. "Let's get some sleep, so we can leave tomorrow morning, okay?" I asked her in a gentle tone, and led her back into the room. I was about to crawl into the sleeping bag that I'd set up for me on the floor, but Page patted the bed next to her. I half-smiled and stood up, walking toward the bed and laying down beside her. Much more cramped than our usual arrangements, but...it was kind of nice to be close to her. I felt her hand on my back, and immediately, I felt grateful to have her as a friend. She just...forgave me. Without me having to apologize. Yes, Page Fabrizzio was something else. Something I didn't know if I could live without.