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Bloody Mary

"Sam!" Dean snapped urgently, shaking a panting Sammy harshly. "Wake up!" Sam's head snapped up, and he looked at us with big, frightened doe eyes. It only took him a moment to regain his emotions, but both Dean and I had seen the fear. We were worried about him. He'd been having nightmares for months now, and that was just when he bothered sleeping.

"I take it I was having a nightmare?" Sam questioned, glancing between me and Dean.

"Yeah," I answered, frowning slightly in concern. "Another one," I added pointedly, making Sam glance away.

"Hey, at least I got some sleep," He attempted to lighten the mood with a grin.

"Hey, you know, sooner or later, we're gonna have to talk about this," Dean told him, and I made a mental note to ask Sam about it later. It was going too far now.

"Are we here?" Sam changed the subject, glancing past me and out the rear windshield to look at the hospital we were parked in front of.

"Yea," I ignored his obvious discomfort with the subject of his nightmares. "Toledo Ohio general hospital," Sammy grabbed the paper from the glove compartment, and I rested my elbows on the front seats, scanning the article over Sammy's shoulder.

"So, what do you think really happened to this guy?" Sam cut to the chase, studying the grainy picture of a man in his mid forties that was circled in black sharpie.

"That's what we're gonna find out," I glanced up to see Dean giving us a cheeky smile as he opened the door and climbed out. "Let's go," I opened the backseat door and stretched my legs, standing. Five hour car trips are the worst. Dean has a rule that we break every five hours or so, which means that if it were six hours, we would've stopped for food. Instead, my stomach was growling, and we were jumping right into the case that we came to Toledo for.

We walked through the deserted hallways of the hospital's second floor, which was where they kept the morgue. I was in between Sam and Dean as the three of us walked in a comfortable silence. I mulled over the newspaper article, mentally checking off things that it could be. Demon and anything to do with water was out, which meant it was most likely humanoid. We ducked inside the door that had Morgue 144 hanging over it. Inside was the most stereotypical hospital room that I'd ever seen. There were big windows that had blinds pulled down over them, making the light turn a grayish color as it filtered through. It was mostly an empty room except for the occasional chair or table and the two desks that was set up by the wall. One desk was deserted and behind the other sat a man that looked to be in his mid twenties wearing a light green hospital scrub.

"Hey," Was all the greeting we got as the man spotted us. He had a phone that was held to his ear, and his eyes skipped over Sam and Dean to land on me before hanging up the phone.

"Hey," Dean replied a bit stiffly. Sammy came to stand in front of the desk while I stood at one of his shoulder and Dean at his other, regarding the man, who was clearly an intern.

"Can I help you?" The man asked not unkindly, although he was still looking me up and down, seeming to direct the question more to me than either of the boys.

"Yeah," Dean cleared his throat loudly, earning the man's attention and forcing me to fight back a smile. "We're the, uh, Med students,"

"Sorry?" The man raised his eyebrows skeptically.

"Oh, Doctor Fliglavitch didn't tell you?" Every word out of Dean's mouth made him sound less and less like a med student. The man frowned, glancing at me and then at Sam before looking back at Dean. "We talked on the phone. We're from Ohio State. He's supposed to show us the shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper,"

"Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch," The man told us, clearly not believing a word of the bullshit Dean was trying to feed him.

"Oh, well, he said, uh…" He trailed off, glancing at Sammy and me, who both turned to look at him. "Oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind showing us the body, do you?"

"Sorry, I can't," The man told us shortly. "Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him, if you want," He said it like he knew we couldn't wait for him.

"An hour?" Dean sucked in a breath, shaking his head slightly. "We got to be heading back to Columbus by then," Sam and I nodded doubtfully while I formulated a plan B in my head. "Look, man, this paper's half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out,"

"Oh, look, man, no," The man replied mockingly. Dean let out a half laugh of annoyance and turned around.

"I'm gonna hit him in his face, I swear," Dean practically growled, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sam start reaching for his wallet.

"Look, I wanted to come earlier this week, but these two idiots kept stalling," I took a step closer to the desk and in front of Sam while rolling my eyes. "This paper is worth half of my grade, and I have worked the entire semester to have an A in anatomy. These two imbeciles are not going to ruin that, so, please," The entire time I'd been talking, I had been moving closer to the desk, and now I rested my hands on it. "Help me out here. I can't fail the class," I held the man's gaze for a few moments before his eyes flicked to my chest and back up, and he swallowing hard.

"Fine," He stood up, giving the two boys behind me a harsh glare and turning. "Follow me," Sammy followed him, and I had barely gone two steps when Dean grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

"Don't do that again," I turned with a small smile on my face, but it disappeared when I saw the dark look on his face.

"Why not? It was a lot better than bribing him," I reasoned, and Dean glared in the direction Sam and the man had gone. "Are you jealous?" I asked incredulously. Honestly, I kind of liked the idea of Dean being jealous, and I had to bite back a smile as he snapped his glare to me.

"What? No! Of course not!" He denied immediately, making me laugh a bit. "I'm not," He insisted, frowning a bit. I shifted my weight to my toes and pressed a brief kiss to his lips, pulling away as he started to respond.

"Come on," I smiled, resisting the urge to take his hand, knowing that if I did the intern would be angry.

"Now the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding," Dean and I came to stand next to Sammy, and I offered the intern a smile.

"More than that," The man gripped the edge of the cloth that covered the corpse on the table and pulled it back, revealing the man's face. "It practically liquified," The man's eye sockets were holes filled with dried blood.

"Any sign of a struggle?" Dean asked him. "Maybe someone did it to him?" I tore my eyes from the horrible sight to look at the intern, who was shaking his head.

"Nope. Besides the daughter he was all alone," He replied, looking down at the corpse with an intrigued glint in his eyes that I didn't like.

"What're they saying?" I asked him.

"Well, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm. Something burst up there. That's for sure,"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, frowning at the reply.

"Intense cerebral bleeding," The intern answered, grinning like it was christmas. "The guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen,"

"But the eyes," Sam got back to the main cause of death. "What would cause something like that?" The intern shook his head, just as confused as us.

"Capillaries can burst, see a lot of blood shot eyes with stroke victims," He listed.

"Yeah, you ever seen exploding eyeballs?" Dean questioned with a note of arrogance.

"That's a first for me. But, hey, I'm not the doctor," The intern grinned at us.

"Think we could take a look at that police report? You know, for, uh, our paper." Dean lied unconvincingly, giving the intern a cocky grin.

"Think I could have your number?" The intern gave me a suggestive grin as he spoke, and I forced myself to smile back. Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, Dean's arms wrapped around my waist tightly, pressing me into his chest.

"Dude, seriously, back off," He growled at the intern, and I didn't have to look up to know that he was glaring at the man, who took a surprised step back.

"How's this," Sam sounded torn between amused and annoyed as he handed a hundred dollar bill. The intern took the money and walked out, glaring at Dean as he went.

"I earned that!" Dean protested, turning his glare on Sam.

"Well, would you have rather Mel gave him her number?" Sam replied, grinning at the two of us, and I hit him in the shoulder.

"Don't objectify me, Sammy!" I snapped at him, making him laugh slightly as the man came back with the reports, handing them to us before showing us out.

"It might not be one of our things. Might just be some freak medical thing," Dean's hand was in mine as we descended the steps next to Sammy.

"How many times in dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing and not some sign of an awful supernatural death?" Was Dean's reply to Sammy's wishful thinking.

"Uh, almost never?" Sam guessed.

"Exactly," I pointed out. "So, we should probably start by talking to the daughter," We reached the bottom of the stairs, and I rode passenger to the Shoemaker's house.

The door was open, and I could practically feel the grief hanging in the air. The table was set up as a memorial to the man that had died, and the house was full of men and women wearing dark clothing. The kitchen counters were filled with casseroles, and I could hear at least ten separate condolences being given.

"Feel like we're underdressed," Dean stated, and I just rolled my eyes.

"Come on," I walked over to a man dressed in a black suit and tie who looked grave. "Excuse me, do you know where Mr. Shoemaker's daughter is? We'd like to give our condolences," I smiled sadly at the man, and he nodded, squeezing my shoulder comfortingly before leading us outside and pointing.

"Thanks," Dean told him as we began walking over to the three girls who were sitting together. "You must be Donna, right?" Dean asked the girl with the short, black hair who was being comforted by her blonde friend.

"Yeah," She answered, glancing between the three of us in confusion.

"Hi, uh, we're really sorry," Sam began, and Donna nodded graciously.

"Thank you,"

"I'm Sam. This is Dean and Mel," I offered her a small smile, which she returned. "We worked with your dad,"

"You did?" Donna glanced at her friend and then back at us skeptically, her eyes flicking back and forth between us.

"Yeah. This whole thing. I mean a stroke," Dean shook his head as if he was grief stricken. I saw girl who was sitting next to Donna flick her eyes up to study Dean's face as Dean spoke the word stroke.

"I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now," Donna's friend cut in protectively.

"It's okay," Donna reassured her, "I'm okay,"

"Were there ever any symptoms of it?" Donna looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "I mean, it was so sudden…" Of their own accord, my eyes had drifted away from Donna to rest on the younger girl, who had looked up when Dean mentioned the stroke.

"No," Donna replied, shaking her head.

"That's because it wasn't a stroke," The girl cut in, turning to look at what I assume was her older sister.

"Lily, don't say that!" Donna admonished her.

"What?" I asked, glancing at the young girl to see the troubled look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, she's just upset," Donna told us.

"No, it happened because of me," Lily insisted, still gazing at her older sister.

"Sweetie, it didn't," I opened my mouth to say something when Sam beat me to it.

"Lily, why would you say something like that?" He asked her, and she hesitated.

"Right before he died, I said it," She told him, a look of seriousness on her face, as if that should make everything clear.

"You said what?" Sam prompted, giving her his doe eyes and kneeling in front of her.

"Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror," I glanced at Dean to see him look at me with a boyish grin that made me smile. "She took his eyes, that's what she does,"

"That's not why dad died. This isn't your fault," Donna tried to convince Lily, who looked up with a scared, regretful expression.

"I think your sister's right, Lily. There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary," Dean told her, and I offered her a comforting smile as she looked at me with wide eyes. "Your dad didn't say it, did he?"

"No, I don't think so," Lily bit her lip and looked down, not convinced.

"Well, our condolences," Dean wrapped up our chat with them. "About your dad. Terrible. He was a good guy," With that, Sam, Dean, and I went back into the house. We walked up the stairs to the second floor, where the bathroom was that Mr. Shoemaker died in. Sam pushed open the door to reveal some dried blood on the tiled floor that had yet to be cleaned up.

"The Bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?" Sam questioned, glancing at us.

"Not that we know of," Dean answered for both of us as I stepped into the room and flicked on the lights.

"I mean, everywhere else," Sam started, crouching down to brush his hand along the black powder that was strewn over the floor. "All over the country, kids have played Bloody Mary. And as far as we know, nobody dies from it,"

"Yeah, well, maybe everywhere it's just a story, but here it's actually happening," Dean suggested.

"Could be the place where the legend began," I offered, glancing at Sammy as Dean opened the mirror cabinet.

"But according to the legend, the person who says…" He trailed off, glancing uncertainly at the mirror before pushing it closed and glaring at Dean. "The person who says 'you know what' gets it, but here,"

"Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah," Dean agreed. "Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror."

"And the daughter is right," I added, glancing at the mirror, a sudden feeling of guilt overcoming me, making me frown. "The way the story goes, 'you know who' scratches your eyes out,"

"It's worth checking into," Sam muttered, and my head snapped up as I the clicking of heels coming down the hallway.

"Someone's coming," I whispered, rushing to the door and turning to see the blonde woman that had been comforting Donna before.

"What are you doing up here? I thought you said you were leaving," She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"We… we had to go to the bathroom," Dean came up with what might've been the worst excuse he had ever used.

"Who are you?" She demanded.

"Like we said downstairs we worked with Donna's dad," Dean recovered, giving her a cocky smile.

"He was a day trader or something, he worked by himself,"

"No, I know, I meant-" Dean stammered, trying to buy time.

"And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that?" She fired the questions at us one after the other. Finally, she folded her arms across her chest, and pursed her lips at us, "So you tell me what's going on, or I start screaming,"

"All right, all right," My gaze snapped to Sammy. He couldn't be serious. "We think something happened to Donna's dad," He was serious.

"Yeah, a stroke," The blonde told us.

"That's not the sign of a typical stroke. We think it might be something else," Sam told her, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Telling people never worked. It was the worst option.

"Like what?" The blonde asked, intrigued.

"We don't really know yet," I told her, glancing at Sammy.

"But we don't want it to happen to anyone else," Sammy finished earnestly. "That's the truth," It was hard not to trust Sammy when he got all little kid on you.

"So," Dean's hard voice interrupted Sam's stare down with the girl. "If you're gonna scream, go right ahead," She looked down, debating for a moment before looking up at us again.

"Who are you, cops?" She asked us.

"Something like that," Dean answered cryptically. Suddenly, I got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach looking at the blonde that stood before me.

"Here," I took out a piece of paper from Sam's notepad and scrawled a number on it quickly, handing it to the young woman. "If you or anyone you know sees anything strange. Give us a call," She took the paper, barely glancing at the number. I walked past her without a second look and headed down the stairs, hearing both of the boys following me.

"All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town. There's gonna be some sort of proof, right? A local woman who died nasty," Dean spoke up as we walked through the library.

"Yeah, but a legend this widespread, it's hard," Sam told him.

"Sam's right, there's about a hundred different versions of the same myth. One says witch, another says ghost," I listed, my eyes flicking between the two boys.

"So what are we supposed to be looking for?" Dean asked us. With each passing hunt I was starting to feel more and more like the old us. Like Sammy never left. Only this time we didn't have John to call and give updates to every three hours.

"Well, every version's got a few things in common. It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror," Sam informed us. "So we've got to search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go. See if we can find a Mary who fits the bill,"

"Well, that sounds annoying," Dean sighed.

"Nah, it won't be so bad, as long as we…" Sam trailed off, and I followed his gaze to the computers with the big 'out of order' signs taped to their screens.

"You were saying?" I raised my eyebrow, looking up at Sammy, who huffed, running a hand through his hair.

"I take it back. This will be very annoying," Sam stated the obvious, and I frowned, looking at the computers in annoyance.

It had been seven hours since we'd rented the hotel room, and we still had jack on Mary and the murders. We'd gotten one hotel room this time, figuring that none of us would get much sleep. I was sitting sideways on a chair with a book on my lap while Dean sat across the small table on another chair. I was fairly certain it was a ghost that was killing these things, and that was pretty much it. I found myself looking over the top of the book I was skimming at a sleeping Sam. I frowned at the kid but quickly blinked away the feeling of trepidation that had been gnawing at my stomach. I glanced over at Dean to see him gazing at Sammy with a frown etched into his handsome features.

"I think I should talk to him," I spoke softly, breaking the silence. I met Dean's green eyes steadily as they studied me intently. "I'm worried about him, Dean, and I know you're worried too,"

"Sammy's a big boy, he'll deal with it," I scoffed at Dean's words, rolling my eyes and feeling a twinge of annoyance. "What?" I looked back at him to see him frowning slightly.

"You," I told him, "How many times do I need to remind you that your whole macho big brother act doesn't work on me?"

"I don't have a macho big brother act," He denied, but he was smiling slightly. I love it when Dean smiles. Really smiles, not the fake one he feeds people that he's lying to.

"You can act tough for Sammy, Dean, but I can see right through you," I told him, glancing back at my book and fighting a smile. "You're worried about him,"

"I'm not. He'll be fine. He always is," I glanced at Dean, who had an unconcerned look plastered onto his face. Without bothering to think, I crumpled my notes into a ball and threw it at him. It hit Dean in the nose, and he looked at me with a mixture of shock and mischief. I returned my gaze to my book and heard him get up. I let Dean slide the book from my hands and put it on the table before I looked up into his eyes. "He'll be fine," Dean repeated, giving me a cocky grin as I folded my arms over my chest. "I'm not worried,"

"Why don't I believe you?" I asked softly, feeling his hot breath on my cheek, and gazing into his deep, green eyes. His lips twitched up into a smile, which made the worry hidden behind his eyes all the more clear.

"Because you know me," He kissed me softly, leaning us both against the wall behind me. He pulled away suddenly, and gave a chuckle, leaning his forehead against mine. "I can have another room in five minutes?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Make it three," I pressed my lips against his quickly before he pulled away and strode towards the door. A sharp gasp stopped him as Sam lay panting on the bed and very much awake. Dean met my eyes, and, for a moment, everything in his eyes was laid bare. There was annoyance battling with worry and a hint of fear. Then, his defenses slammed down, and his eyes grew hard. He crossed the room and fell into the chair across from me again, and I couldn't help the twinge of disappointment. Okay, maybe it was more than a twinge.

"Why'd you let me fall asleep?" Sam's voice sounded hoarse with emotion which only led to make me more concerned for the kid.

"Cause Mel's an awesome friend," Dean answered him. I had told Dean to let him sleep even though Dean had wanted to wake him. Sam had needed the sleep even if it was riddled with nightmares. I gave Dean a pointed glance, and his eyes flicked to Sammy and back. "I'm going to go get some food. There's a diner down the street," Dean grabbed his jacket from where it was hung by the door. "You two want anything?" Dean asked, glancing between us.

"I'm good," Sam told him without looking up from where he was lying on the bed.

"Me too," I added, sending Dean a small smile as he walked out the door. A moment of silence passed before I spoke, "What did you dream about?"

"Lollipops and candy canes," Sam answered sarcastically.

"Jess again?" I took a pretty safe guess. He just nodded. "Are you gonna tell me what happened?" He turned his head to look at me in surprise and carefully hidden worry.

"Well, my girlfriend," He began, getting more and more heated with each passing word and raising himself from the bed. "Burned to death pinned to the friggin' ceiling of our house! And I didn't do a damn thing about it! Twenty years of hunting, and I couldn't even stop my girlfriend from getting murdered by the same demon who killed my mom! A girlfriend who I was thinking of marrying!" His voice cut short abruptly, and my gaze snapped to his in shock.

"Oh, Sammy," My voice trailed off as I tried to think of things to say. Sammy glared ferociously at me through watery eyes and reached down, rummaging through his bag roughly for a moment before coming up with a small box and tossing it to me. I caught the box and was almost afraid to look inside, knowing what I'd find. The ring was elegant and simple with a small diamond in the center, "It's beautiful," I snapped it shut, gazing at him and feeling my throat closing. "Why do you feel so guilty, Sam?" I asked the question softly, not tearing my gaze from his form.

"I had… dreams," He muttered. "About her death. Days before… I had nightmares about it," He looked up at me from where his head was in his hands. "How is that possible?" His eyes were so desperate for comfort that I couldn't help but walk over and sit next to him on the bed.

"I'm going to figure it out, okay?" I promised him, meaning every word. "Dean and I are going to figure it out, and then you are getting out of this life. And you're going to fall in love again, and give this ring to someone else, who you love just as much as Jessica," I pressed the black velvet box into his hand and closed his fingers around it, giving him a determined smile.

"It doesn't weird you out?" I just frowned at him, hesitating. "Mel, I might be getting psychic visions. That doesn't weird you out?"

"I've seen a lot of weird stuff, Sam," A smile twitched at my mouth. I could tell him. Here and now. I could tell him about my hearing and what I can do. My feelings. Instead, I just said, "It's kinda in the job description," He just shook his head and let out a small, shaky laugh.

"And Mel?" Sam stopped me as I stood, and I half turned to look at him. "Don't tell Dean. And… after all this is over, and I get out. Take care of him," I just offered him a smile, glancing at the door.

"I always do," I grinned at him, and Dean chose that very moment to come through the door. Sam quickly hid the box in his jacket, and I sat on the chair, looking up at Dean.

"So, you two find anything?" Sammy asked, trying to avoid the subject of our discussion. Dean sat across from me and took out his cheeseburger that had been wrapped in a white bag and began eating.

"You mean besides a whole new level of frustration? No," Dean filled him in on what he'd missed.

"We've looked through everything," I added. "A few woman over the decades. Laura Monteith and Catherine Smith, suicide in front of a mirror,"

"And," I knew what he was about to say, but hadn't bothered to mention it. "A giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but, uh… no Mary," Sam flopped down on the bed with a tired sigh.

"Maybe we just haven't found it yet," Sam suggested optimistically.

"We've also been searching for strange deaths, in the area," Dean continued, glancing at the computer screen and then to me. "You know, eye ball bleeding and that sort of thing. There's nothing,"

"Which means whatever is happening here, it probably isn't Bloody Mary," I had barely finished speaking when my phone rang. Unknown caller. I frowned, that's strange. Flipping it open, I pressed it to my ear. "Hello?"

"Nel? Or Mel? Or whoever! Is this you? Something's happened!" I sat up straight.

"Where are you? Tell us where to meet you," I told her, and she gave me instructions before hanging up. It took us five minutes to get to the park table where she was sobbing.

"She's dead, and they found her on the bathroom floor," She sobbed out, "And her - her eyes… they were gone,"

"I'm sorry," Sammy murmured to her.

"And she said it," That caught my interest. "I heard her say it. But it couldn't be because of that," She sounded more as if she was trying to convince herself than us. "I'm insane right?"

"No, you're not insane," Dean reassured her.

"God, that makes me feel so much worse," She muttered, shaking her head.

"Look, we think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained," Sam began.

"And we're going to stop it," Dean continued, looking at her steadily.

"But we need your help," I told her, knowing she needed to understand what was at stake here.

"What do you need me to do?" She finally asked after a long minute of silence. Dean outlined the plan to her, which was really very simple. She'd go in to Jill's house and open the window for Sam, Dean, and I to get in without setting off the alarms.

Once inside, Sammy quickly set the duffel on the nearest table, readying the equipment while I studied the house, trying to get some sort of feeling from it. Nothing.

"What did you tell Jill's mom?" Sam asked the girl.

"I just said I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things," She replied, looking guilty and apprehensive. "I hate lying to her,"

"Trust us. This is for the greater good," I abandoned my attempt at getting some sort of feeling and joined Sam with getting the equipment in order. A moment later, Dean came up on my other side.

"What are you guys looking for?" That seemed to be the third most popularly asked question when Sam, Dean, or I tell someone what's really going on. It's behind 'who are you?' and, my personal favorite, 'what the hell is that?'.

"We'll let you know as soon as we find it," Dean told her as I took out the EMF and handed it to him, opting to keep the video camera to myself.

"Night vision," I explained to the three, holding up the video camera. I pointed the camera up at Dean's face, grinning and pressing the button that turned the screen a greenish color.

"Do I look like Paris Hilton?" Dean asked, giving me a smirk, which made me smile and shake my head. I headed over with Sam to the closet mirror and ran my camera along the surface.

"So, I don't get it. I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?" Sam reviewed the case aloud.

"Beats me," Dean answered unhelpfully as I finished with the mirror, and Sam shut it. "I wanna know why Jill said it in the first place," Dean continued, looking to Charlie for answers.

"It was just a joke," She told him, shrugging uncomfortably.

"Eventually, someone's gonna say it again," I stated, glancing back at them as Sam and I headed to the bathroom mirrors.

"She's right," Dean's eyes flicked to me before settling on Charlie again. "It's just a matter of time," I sucked in a breath through my teeth as I was suddenly hit by an nauseating flood of emotion.

"Are you okay?" Sam's concerned voice made me straighten forcibly. Trying my best to appear unconcerned, I nodded.

"Yeah, fine," Guilt. Another, smaller wave of the emotion washed over me, and my mind was thrown into a turmoil of past hunts. People I couldn't save. People, good people, that died because I wasn't fast enough.

"Mel?" I blinked away the thoughts and focused on the task at hand, brushing past Sam to scan the mirror through the lens of the camera. Suddenly, my attention was caught by the shining silver that stood out at the bottom of the mirror. I focused the camera and zoomed in on the stain. Blood.

"Hey!" I called to Dean and Charlie, who were still in the bedroom. "I think I found something!" And then I spoke quieter to Sam, "Get the black light from the trunk," Sam hurried out the door, and Dean came to stand beside me just as I shut off the camera. "Help me with this," Dean ended up carrying the mirror to the bed and set it face down on the covers. Sam came back, tossing me the backlight, and I shined it over the back of the mirror. Nothing.

"Try ripping off the paper," Sam grabbed the back of the mirror and ripped off the paper, and I once again shined the light over the wood. This time, a glowing, blue handprint shown with words spelled out under it sloppily as if someone had painted it with their fingers. "Gary Bryman?" Charlie read aloud the name.

"Do you know who that is?" Sam asked her, and she quickly shook her head.

"No," She answered.

-SPN-

"So," Sam came around to stand in front of the bench where I sat in the middle of Dean and Charlie. "Gary Bryman was an eight year old boy. Two years ago, he was killed in a hit and run. The car was described as a black toyota camry, but nobody got the plates or saw the driver,"

"Oh, my god," Charlie murmured, sounding horrified, and I had a feeling I knew why she was so horrified about.

"What?" Sammy asked her.

"That was Jill's car, wasn't it?" I guessed softly and sympathetically. She looked at me, nodding in confirmation. I turned to look at Dean, meeting his eyes.

"We need to get back to Donna's house," It took us thirty minutes to drive to Donna's house, me riding in the back with Charlie. Thankfully, the window was open, so we climbed through quietly while Charlie distracted Donna downstairs and made our way to the upstairs bathroom. It was risky, though. We could hear the two girls downstairs the entire time we worked. Dean and Sam took down the mirror, setting it on the floor while I shined the black light over the back of it.

"Linda Shoemaker," A hard knot formed in the pit of my stomach as I read the name aloud. "His wife?" I offered, glancing at the two boys. We crept back downstairs and out the window before she could notice we had been there. We went around to the front of the house and politely knocked on the door. Donna answered with Charlie standing behind her, and they led us inside.

"Did you know a Linda Shoemaker? Was she your mom?" I asked her, getting right to it. She frowned in confusion, glancing between the three of us untrustingly before looking questioningly at Charlie.

"Why are you asking me this?" She demanded.

"Look, we're sorry, but it's important," Sam apologized to her.

"Yeah, Linda's my mom, okay? And she overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident and that's it," Dean and I exchanged disbelieving looks. "I think you should leave,"

"Listen, Donna, we-" Dean started, but was cut off.

"Get out of my house!" She shrieked at us, storming past Dean and up the stairs.

"Oh, my god," Charlie began as soon as she was out of earshot. "Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?"

"Maybe," Sam told her, which was as good as a definitely in our book.

"I think I should stick around," Charlie sounded determined.

"All right, well, just whatever you do don't…" Dean trailed off, but we all knew what came next.

"Believe me, I won't say it," Charlie assured us a bit too readily. I pursed my lips, studying her thoughtfully and wondering what secret she was hiding.

Five hours later, we were still doing research in the hotel room even though it was well into the night. So far, we'd come up with jack, and I was starting to loose all hope that we would ever solve this thing. There was obviously something about feeling guilty about the murder that they'd committed. That was why this 'Mary' kept killing people.

"Wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search?" I glanced up in surprise, having been zoned out for the past couple of minutes.

"The NCIC, the FBI database, at this point, any Mary in the country who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me," Dean told him, and I put down the book I'd been flipping through, well, more like staring at.

"But if she's haunting the town, she should've died in the town," Sam reasoned.

"Not necessarily," I sat next to Dean, glancing at his screen to see if there were any hits before turning to focus my gaze on Sam, who was leaning on the chair across from me. "She could be haunting an object that was sold to someone in this town. Or maybe a person," I suggested, making Dean nod.

"Yeah, and there's nothing local. I've checked," Dean backed me up as I glanced back down at the screen. "Plus, I don't see you having a better idea," Sam really couldn't argue with that one.

"The way Mary's choosing her victims. It seems like there's a pattern," Sam pointed out.

"I know, I was thinking the same thing," Dean agreed.

"With Mr. Shoemaker, and Jill's hit and run," Sam started.

"Both of them had secrets that involved people dying," I finished for him.

"Right. I mean, there's a lot of local folklore about mirrors that they reveal all your lies, all your secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them,"

"Right. Right. Yeah, so maybe if you've got a secret, I mean like a real nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it and punishes you for it," Dean pieced together the puzzle.

"Whether you're the one that summoned her or not," Sam added.

"Check this out," I moved the mouse on Dean's computer and clicked on the nearest murder that seemed promising. I clicked print, and the printer started up loudly, printing black and white pictures. Sam got the pictures and gave one to me before holding two up next to each other to see.

"Looks like the same handprint," He analyzed.

"Her name was Mary Worthington. An unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana," Dean's eyes flicked between me and Sammy, and I turned to Sammy, grinning slightly.

"Shotgun," I grabbed my jacket as I headed out to the Impala.

The drive out took two hours, and, thankfully, we stopped for food. First, we went to the sheriff's department, flashing our fake badges and wide smiles. They directed us to an old house just outside of town, which belonged to the retired detective that had worked Mary's case.

"I was on the job for thirty-five years," The old detective began after Dean brought up the case. "Detective for most of it. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder… that one still gets me," I looked at the pictures he had hung up on the wall. Two kids. A wife. I glanced at him briefly. Divorced by the tan line on his finger.

"What exactly happened?" Dean questioned him.

"You three said you were reporters?" The ex-detective asked skeptically.

"We know Mary was nineteen," Sam told him, making the lie more convincing. "Lived by herself. We know she won a few local beauty contests, dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress. And we know the night of March 29th, someone broke into her apartment and murdered her. Cut out her eyes with a knife,"

"That's right," The man agreed quietly, almost sorrowfully.

"See, sir," I began, tearing my eyes away from the pictures to fix my gaze on him. "When we ask you what happened. We really mean what do you think happened," The man went into a file cabinet and pulled out a thick file.

"Technically, I'm not supposed to have a copy of this," He told us as he opened the file on one of his tables and flipped through to a picture. "Now, see that there, 'T-R-E'? I think Mary was trying to spell the name of her killer," I looked over Dean's shoulder at the black and white photo of a girl lying on the floor, T-R-E finger painted in blood on her side.

"You know who it was?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Not for sure," The ex detective admitted. "But there was a local man, surgeon. Trevor Sampson," He put a grainy picture on top of the bloodier one. "And I think he cut her up good,"

"But why would he do that?" I asked, needing to make sure it wasn't just a personal vendetta the man had against Trevor Sampson.

"Her diary mentioned a man she was seeing. She called him by his initial, 'T'. Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell T's wife about the affair,"

"Yeah, but how do you know it was this guy Sampson that killed her?" Dean asked dubiously.

"It's hard to say," The man shook his head. "But the way her eyes were cut out, it was almost professional,"

"But you could never prove it?" Dean checked.

"No," The man conceded. "No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous,"

"Is he still alive?" I asked. That would be a huge help.

"Nope," The detective told us rather cheerfully, "If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret, but she never could,"

"Where was she buried?" Sam's question held a secret weight with it.

"She wasn't," Damn it. Our job just got a lot harder. "She was cremated," I glanced at Dean to see him rolling his eyes in an annoyance when an idea struck me.

"What about that mirror?" I asked, and Dean caught on quickly.

"Yeah, it's not in some evidence lockup somewhere, is it?" Dean questioned, and the man frowned for a minute before passing off the inquiry.

"No. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago," He told us.

"Do you have the names of her family by any chance?" He frowned again but printed us off a copy of the list and numbers. Sam started dialing the number to Mr. John Worthington almost before we'd reached the car. The conversation only took a couple of minutes before he hung up with an annoyed look, shaking his head.

"So?" Dean prompted when Sam didn't speak for a moment.

"So, that was Mary's brother. The mirror was in the family for years, until he sold it one week ago to a store called Estate Antiques, a store in Toledo," Sam filled us in.

"So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?" He checked.

"Her spirits tied to the mirror," I nodded as I spoke. That made sense.

"Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits," Dean questioned.

"Yeah, there is," Sam immediately answered, making me grin slightly, "When someone would die in a house, people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped,"

"Mary died in front of a mirror and her spirit got trapped in it somehow?" I guessed, glancing at Sam.

"Yeah, but how could she move through like a hundred different mirrors?" Sam wondered.

"I don't know, but if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and smash it," Dean stated determinedly, but something told me that that might not be the best idea.

"It might not be that easy," I began, only to be cut off by my phone ringing. I checked the number. Charlie. I flipped open the phone and pressed it to my ear. "Charlie?"

"Mel? I need help. I saw it. I see it. Donna-she said it. I see it! It's going to kill me!" A panicked voice spoke rapidly on the other end.

"Charlie, calm down, it's not going to kill you. Tell me where you are," I spoke urgently, repeating the address she gave me to Dean, who stepped on the gas. "I need you to stay calm, stay away from any mirrors in your house. Whatever you do, don't look at them, Charlie. Can you do that?"

"I think so," She was crying slightly, and I felt sympathy bubble in my stomach.

"Okay, good. We're on our way," I shut the phone, and tapped Dean's shoulder from the backseat. "Hurry up. She's in trouble." We picked her up from her house and took her to the motel, making sure to cover all the mirrors or reflective surfaces. Sam sat on the bed next to Charlie as Dean and I finished the last mirror. I glanced back at Charlie and frowned in concern.

"She's going to be okay," I looked up at Dean. "We're going to kill this thing,"

"Yeah," Against my will, I was comforted by Dean's confident words. I leaned against him briefly, closing my eyes, and felt his arms wrap around my waist securely. "I hope so,"

"I'm gonna die, aren't I?" I opened my eyes, and Dean's arms dropped as we heard Charlie's desolate words.

"No," Sam sounded convinced as he reassured her. "Not anytime soon,"

"All right, Charlie," I sat on the bed as Dean spoke to her. "We need to know what happened,"

"We were in the bathroom," She told us, rocking back and forth, "Donna said it,"

"We both know that's not what he meant," I spoke gently, and she looked at me with terrified eyes. "What happened?" She hesitated looking down at her lap. "We need to know, Charlie,"

"I had this boyfriend," She finally began quietly. "I loved him. But he kind of scared me, too, you know," I couldn't help sneaking a look at Dean out of the corner of my eye. "And, one night at his house, we got in this fight. Then I broke up with him, and he got upset and he said he needed me and he loved me," My eyes remained firmly trained on Charlie even though I could feel Sam's gaze on my face. This story was sounding all too familiar. "And he said, 'Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself.' And do you know what I said? I said, 'go ahead', and I left. How could I say that?" She looked up at me desperately as if I held the answer she was looking for. "How could I leave him like that? I just… I didn't believe him, you know? I should have,"

"We're going to save you. Promise," I swore, standing and heading out the door with renewed determination. I slid into the passenger's seat as Dean got into the driver's seat and Sam was in the back.

"You know, a boyfriend killing himself, that's not really Charlie's fault," Dean broke the silence that had fallen.

"You know as well as we do that spirits don't exactly see shades of gray, Dean. Charlie had a secret, someone died. That's good enough for Mary,"

"I guess," Dean sounded unconvinced.

"You know, I've been thinking," Sam changed the subject, "It might not be enough to just smash that mirror,"

"Why? What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Well, Mary's hard to pin down, right?" Sam reasoned. "I mean, she moves around from mirror to mirror. So who's to say that she's not gonna just keep hiding in them forever?"

"So, what're you thinking?" I asked, glancing at the rearview mirror.

"Maybe, we should try to pin her down. You know, summon her to her mirror and then smash it," Sam explained

"Well how do you know that's gonna work?" Dean's voice held skepticism.

"I don't. I'm not sure," Sam admitted.

"Well, who's gonna summon her?" Dean pointed out, glancing at both of us.

"I will," I volunteered quickly before Sammy could.

"What?" Dean snapped, glancing at me. "No, no way in hell,"

"Dean-" My heated protest was cut short by Sam.

"No, I will," He told us somberly. "She'll come after me,"

"All right, you know what, that's it," Dean pulled to the side of the road, and I felt a family discussion coming on. The only problem was it was raining outside, so I couldn't get out. "This is about Jessica, isn't it? You think that's your dirty little secret? That you killed her somehow? Sam, this has got to stop, man. I mean, the nightmares and - and calling her name out in the middle of the night, it's gonna kill you. Now, listen to me. It wasn't your fault," Sam just set his jaw and stared out the back window.

"He's right, Sam," I broke in, hating the look of self-loathing that was written on Sam's face almost as much as I hated it when it crossed Dean's features. "If you need to blame something, then blame that demon," Even that didn't get a reaction out of him.

"Exactly," Dean snapped, "Or, hell, why don't you take a swing at me? I'm the one that dragged you away from her in the first place," That finally did it, and Sam turned to fix his soft gaze on us.

"I don't blame either of you," He told us earnestly.

"Well, you shouldn't blame yourself either," Dean stated firmly. "Cause there's nothing you could've done,"

"I could've warned her," Sam glanced at me, meeting my eyes briefly, and I knew he meant his dreams.

"About what?" Dean snapped, not understanding. I looked down at my hands for a moment and then back at Sam. "You didn't know it was gonna happen. And, besides, all of this isn't a secret. I mean, Mel and I know all about it. It's not gonna work with Mary anyway,"

"No, you don't," Sam said darkly, and Dean looked startled.

"I don't what?" Dean asked, and I bit my lip, looking back down at my hands, feeling Dean's gaze on the side of my head.

"You don't know all about it. I haven't told you everything," Sam elaborated, his voice still holding that chilling darkness.

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked, surprise stripping his voice of it's usual hardness.

"Well, it wouldn't really be a secret if I told you, would it?" Sam returned to looking out the window, and I studied my hands intently.

"Do you know about this?" I slowly forced my gaze up to meet Dean's glaring eyes, but I held firm. "What the hell's he talking about?"

"It's his choice to tell you, Dean," I felt guilt gnawing at my stomach as I spoke the words, but I pushed it down. "It doesn't matter anyways. I'll go,"

"No," Dean bit out the word harshly. "I don't like it. It's not gonna happen. Forget it,"

"Dean, that girl back there is going to die unless we do something about it," Sam told him. "And you know what? Who knows how many more people are gonna die after that? Now, we're doing this. And it's not going to be Mel. You two have got to let me do this," Dean debated for a few moments with a seriously pissed look on his face before starting the car again. It was an hour of tense silence until we reached the warehouse. I picked the lock while the boys kept watch, and it only took a couple seconds before the door swung open with a protesting creak. The warehouse was full of mirrors; everywhere I shone my flashlight another just seemed to pop up out of the darkness.

"Well, that's just great," Dean commented sarcastically before taking out the photo of the dead Mary. Sammy shined the flashlight on the picture, illuminating the mirror. "All right, let's get looking," The three of us split up, and I took the hallway to our left that was lined with mirrors, none which matched the picture. "Maybe they've already sold it," Dean called after a moment, and I met up with him as our hallways joined.

"I don't think so," Something in the way Sam said those words made me walk a bit faster. We came to stand by Sam, staring at the big mirror that was leaned against the wall in front of him. I shone my light on the picture in Dean's hands before looking back at the mirror, but I already knew it was the right one.

"That's it," Dean confirmed with a heavy sigh before turning to Sammy. "You sure about this?" Dean was hoping Sam had changed his mind. He hadn't. Dean handed him the bat, and he faced the mirror.

"Bloody Mary," He began as Dean and I watched him warily. "Bloody Mary," He said again. Goosebumps shot up my arms, and I instinctively shifted closer to Dean. "Bloody Mary," There was nothing from the mirror, but a blinding light came from a little ways off in one of the hallways.

"I'll go check that out, you two stay here. Be careful," Dean instructed us, taking charge. I bit my lip to hold in the argument that was on the tip of my tongue. "Smash anything that moves," I glanced back the way Dean had gone before looking back at the mirror and readjusting my grip on the steel pipe I'd brought. I couldn't stop my eyes from drifting back to where he had vanished.

"Just go," My eyes snapped to Sam in surprise. "I'll be fine. I know you want to go. Make sure he's okay," I bit my lip for a moment, unsure, before turning towards the blinding light and walking towards it.

"Hey," I whispered when I came up beside him, causing Dean to jump.

"I thought I told you to stay with Sam," He hissed at me, and I bit back a grin.

"You did," I met his eyes levelly, "I didn't listen," He let out a half annoyed half amused huff and turned back to the lights outside the window. I heard the unmistakable crunching of tires over gravel.

"Crap," Dean muttered, glancing at the light before turning back to me. "Go back and help Sam. I'll deal with these guys. I have a plan," I let my hearing drift to pick up the slamming of two car doors.

"Be careful," I told him earnestly, and, in answer, he flashed me a mischievous grin before sauntering out the door. I sighed but quickly made my way back to Sammy. The clanging of metal on the ground was all I needed to start running towards Sammy, who was gasping and panting.

"You never told her the truth. Who you really were," Sam's reflection was talking as Sam sunk to the ground in pain. "But it's more than that, isn't it?"

"Sam!" I yelled, kneeling by his side, and snatching up the bat to smash the damn thing.

"Those nightmares you've been having, of Jessica dying, screaming, burning." A tingling shot up my spine and then a sharp pain throbbed in my cheek like my heart was beating in it. I felt a hot trail of thick water leave a trail down my face. Except when I touched it, it was crimson. "You had them for days before she died, didn't you?" I looked back into the mirror, my eyes wide, to see my reflection was looking at me with a malevolent expression twisted onto my features.

"You did it," My reflection told me, and I felt a jolt of pain go through my heart, making me cry out against my will. "It was your fault," I coughed and gagged, trying to breathe evenly, and tightened my grip on the bat against the pain. "She was your fault,"

"Shut up!" I snarled at the damn thing, hurling the bat into it and shattering it into a million pieces. My legs turned to jell-o, and I sunk to the floor next to Sammy, wiping the blood off my face.

"Mel! Sam!" Dean knelt next to me now, helping me with Sammy. He grabbed Sam's face in his hands, forcing it up for us to see the blood tears that he had been crying. "Sammy!"

"It's Sam," Sammy croaked out, and I gave a half laugh of relief.

"Mel, your face," Dean moved to me, but I brushed him off with a hand, shaking my head.

"I'm fine. We need to get out of here." He nodded reluctantly in agreement, and I smiled shakily in relief, getting to my feet and helping Dean pull Sam up.

"Come on, come on," Dean grunted as he put one of Sam's arms over his shoulders and I took the other arm, supporting him. There was a sudden gust of wind from behind us, and a chilling voice in the air. We turned slowly, letting go of Sammy, who could now stand by himself. There, having crawled out of the mirror where she'd been trapped, was Mary Worthington, or what was left of her. I felt my heart constrict, and gave a groan of pain before falling to my knees. I blinked rapidly, my vision of her spirit coming towards us blurred.

"Dean," I got out before my throat tightened, and my pulse began to pound in the back of my head. There was a loud grunt of effort from Dean, and then the pain disappeared and I was left panting and shaking in relief.

"You killed them. All those people. You killed them," Mary's reflection was glaring at her as she wheezed and choked. Her face began melting and the rest of her body followed soon after until she shattered like a mirror and all that was left was shards. Dean threw the mirror he'd used to trick her into the glass shards, and it shattered as well. I sat up, fighting to regain my breath, and offered a weakly reassuring smile at the two boys.

"Hey, guys?" Dean studied us for a moment. "That's got to be like, what, 600 years of bad luck?" I let out a small laugh, shaking my head but feeling lighter somehow. We managed to pick ourselves off the ground and get on the road without being chased down by the police, which was a pretty big accomplishment. We picked Charlie up and threw our bags into the back of the Impala, checking out of the motel on our way out.

"So this is really over?" Charlie asked in numb shock from beside Sam in the back as we pulled up in front of her house.

"Yeah, it's over," Dean told her reassuringly.

"Thank you," Charlie whispered, smiling a bit.

"Charlie," Sam stopped her from leaving, and she turned. "Your boyfriend's death, you really should try to forgive yourself. No matter what you did, you probably couldn't have stopped it. Sometimes bad things just happen," I smiled at Sam's speech, hoping that he was finally on his way to forgiving himself for Jessica's death.

"That's good advice," Dean grinned slightly at Sam in the rearview before revving the engine. "Hey," Dean started after a few minutes of driving, "Now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret was,"

"Look, you're my brother, and I'd die for you, but there's some things I need to keep to myself," Dean glanced at me and then at the rearview.

"But Mel get's to know?" Dean practically whined, and Sam just shrugged, grinning slightly. "I don't suppose," Dean started, his eyes fixing on me, and I shook my head.

"Sorry, Dean, Sam's secret," I turned my head to look out the window so the two boys couldn't see the frown of worry and fear that overtook my face. Sam and me - our mothers died the same way and now we're both getting these… abilities. That couldn't be a coincidence? Could it?