Chapter 2 – one dead girl

A/N: It's Sunday. And Phoebe's birthday weirdness continues. And Mish: I haven't forgotten about you, either.

POV: Dean Winchester

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, not profit.

Anne Marie Gates is smiling at me, a big grin full of perfect white teeth. She's a cute kid. Red-headed, freckles. There's a bigger, wider, bloodier grin below her chin.

Her mom cut her throat from ear to ear.

At first I don't get what the hell is going on. We're at eye level. Anne Marie was sixteen when she died, and I was older, taller. Then I look down at myself, and I finally get it.

I'm sitting in the middle of a hallway somewhere. There's a dead girl sitting right in front of me.

I can't remember how I fucking got here.

The front of her green t-shirt and blue jeans is stiff with dried blood and gore all the way down to her feet. The creases of her white sneakers are stained dark.

"It's not your fault, Dean. None of this is your fault. You tried to stop my parents. I don't blame you for this," she says, smiling. The lips of the wound are bluish pink and move as she talks. "I blame my parents, just like I blame your Dad."

That's not right.

I don't…Dad's not like that…he's not…

Anne Marie frowns and she's not herself anymore. I blink, and instead of red hair, that bloody tee shirt and jeans I see a long black robe, pale skin and tattoos.

"...you're...not... real…" Christ, the top of my head feels like it's about to come off.

She touches the side of my face and her fingers are ice cold and I try to pull away and I can't and there's blood on her fingers and she's smearing it into my skin and this isn't right, none of this is right and I gotta get away, I gotta ----

"Think good thoughts, Dean," Anne Marie whispers. Her voice sounds funny, rough and soft all at the same time. "That's what I want you to do from now on."

Everything goes white for a minute. Can't catch my breath… can't breathe, heart's pounding so hard feels like it's gonna burst…

"Ssssh…calm down, Dean…"

Heart's pounding fit to burst…if I'm lucky, I'll have a heart attack…If I'm lucky…

"Hush now. You don't want to leave just yet, do you?" Her voice softens, and my heart slows up. "Breathe now. Breathe." I take a deep breath that makes me shake all over. Then another one.

Slow. Slower.

"Come on, now. Come back to me, Dean. That's right."

I blink and everything's too bright at first. Another couple blinks and I can see again. I look at her, and I don't see anything else. Just Anne Marie.

Don't know why I was acting so girly a minute ago. I feel okay now.

Anne Marie smiles at me all warm and bright like my Mom used to.

I smell fruit flavored lip gloss and wet blood. Anne Marie leans forward until we're nose to nose. "You remember, don't you? All those fights between your Dad and Sam?"

The right side of my face hurts. I remember. Dad tagged me a good one during one of the last fights, when I stepped between him and Sam. Rocked my head back pretty good; had bruises for a week. Hell, wasn't gonna cry about it. Didn't expect him to say he was sorry and he never did.

"What the hell kind of father does that to his kids?"

That's my voice. Loud and angry.

I must have said that out loud.

"You were caught in the middle, trying to make peace. You've been the good son, the one who stayed and never questioned. You've done everything your Dad ever asked of you, and look where it got you."

Every muscle in my body starts to shake. I'm tired. I'm only twenty three. I shouldn't feel so fucking old and tired.

"Sam." My voice sounds rough. My throat hurts. "Sam left because of Dad. Dad told him if he walked out that door don't bother to come back."

"That's right. Of course you miss your baby brother. Your Dad can't help it, Dean. He's old and tired. Parents get like that sometimes."

Her eyes are shining brightly, like she's discovered something really good and she can't wait to tell it to me. "It's not your fault. You're a good son, the best. You've always known what's best for your family. Your Dad's tired, Dean. He is. This life is too much for him."

"You need to help him, and you're the only one who can." Anne Marie's voice gets rougher, deeper. "Put him out of his misery."

My head rocks back as something spikes me hard right between the eyes, goes deep into my head. I groan as a trickle of blood runs from my right ear down my neck.

"D-Dad's tired…n-not...his...fault..." I whisper hoarsely, and she smiles a little.

"You can do this, Dean. I know you can. Walk up behind your father and shoot him in the back of the head. Twice. Then he can rest and go to heaven and be with your mom. You can do that for him, can't you? Then you can take a little trip, go see Sam at Stanford. He's tired too. You're his big brother. You've taken care of him all your life. I know you'll do right by him."

Sammy…

My throat closes up on me, and all I can do is nod.

"All the things your poor family has gone through. It's time to end it all." She gets to her feet all at once; pretty smooth for a dead girl. She leans forward, cups my chin with her hand.

Still cold, too cold, but I don't mind now.

"I know how tired you are, Dean. You deserve a good long rest, right after you take care of your father and your brother. Suicides don't always go to hell," she says brightly. "They'll make an exception in your case. All the people you saved. All that blood on your hands. It wasn't your fault."

"Dad...left me...." Can't keep my eyes open any longer. "…not my fault…"

"That's my good boy." She strokes the back of my head with her hand and presses her lips against my forehead.

When I open my eyes again I feel better. Headache's gone down to a dull throb, and I can deal with that. I've felt worse.

Huh. Must've grayed out. God must look after children and fools, because what if some demon fucker had come up on me while I was out like that?

I run my hands over my face, and I don't know why I expect to see blood when I pull my hands away. My fingers are sweaty, that's all. I wipe my hands on my jeans. I'm a little shaky getting up, but it passes as I lean against the wall.

My cell phone goes off in my jacket pocket. I don't even need to check the caller ID; I already know who it is.

"Dean? I've been calling you all night. I'm back. Where the hell are you?"

Dad. He sounds pissed.

"I'm at that boarded up city rec center on North 7th street."

"Why?"

"Found a hunt while you were gone. Came over here to check the place out."

I can almost see Dad quirk one eyebrow at the phone. "And you couldn't have left a voice mail, or a note?"

"You called me before I could."

"North 7th street, huh? Stay there," Dad growls. "I'm coming."

"Yes sir."

I close my phone, slip it back into my jacket pocket. I pull my Colt 1911 and my Desert Eagle out of my back waistband, one at a time, pop the clips and check the rounds. They're fully loaded, and I'm good to go.

Got my knife in my left boot. I'd rather make this is quick and painless as I can, but Dad's stubborn, and I gotta be ready for any and everything. I'm pretty sure he didn't believe that lie I told. It's okay.

After everything I've ever done for this family, I know this is the right thing to do.

First Dad, then Sam.

Then we can all rest.

A/N: I'm leaving it at this point because (say it with me, kids): I'm evil. Next chapter will be posted on Tuesday.