A.N: It's good to know people actually like. I'm kind of surprised. But thank you all. It's a huge confidence boost.

xoxo, Ari.

P.S. Most of this chapter is just me writing out the episode. I would've continued on, finishing up the episode, so I can move on to something new in this story, but it's getting a bit long and I just want to post this already. So the ending of this chapter's not really a big surprise, unless you haven't seen the episode yet, then SURPRISE.

CHAPTER FOUR:

I was suspecting him to slam the door, yell, laugh, or maybe even believe me, not get water splashed in my face.

"What was that for?!"

Dean grabbed my arm and took out a silver knife and sliced my arm.

"Ow!" I jerked it away, blood dripping on to the floor. "Listen, my name is Thea. Thea Casey. My mother was Beatrice Casey, my father, your father, John."

"If your John's kid, how come I've never heard of you?" he interrogated.

"I don't know," I honestly told. "I didn't know him either."

"Then how can you be so sure?"

I went back into my room and took the photo my mother had shown me the day before out of my bag. I gave it to Dean.

"Is that him?"

"Yes!" Dean took my question more as attitude, but it was serious. I didn't know. "Got any more pictures?"

I shook my head. "That's the only one I've seen. They're might be more back at my house."

"Well, why don't you head back then?" he suggested. "Bet your mother is worried."

"Yeah, that's impossible."

"No, it's not. I'll even give you a ride. Where do you live?"

"My family's dead, Dean. Except for you and Sam."

He seemed shocked by how I knew their names.

"Do you know anyone else alive on the Winchester side?" I asked.

"What about your mother's side?"

"My mom was an only child, my grandparents are dead. There isn't much else." Of course there was Harry's family, but I always felt weird around them.

"Sammy and I, we're working a job here," he told me. "It's not safe. You saw what happened to that man. Okay, that wasn't a suicide."

He was starting to frustrate me. "Listen here, I found my family dead not even twenty-four hours ago. I could have graduated from high school with only a few months left to go, but no, I ran away. And wanna know why I ran away? Because I'm scared. There's something after me, and if I'm correct, you know how to deal with these kind of things."

Dean stared at me. I would like to think he was in shock, but that was probably a long stretch.

"Fine," he finally responded. "We'll help you. But I want a blood test."

I rolled my eyes. "Alright, bro."

That didn't seem to fit right with him.

"Sorry," I quietly muttered. I had the habit for apologizing for things that weren't my fault. But there was just some situations, when you had nothing else to say.

I walked back into my room, locking the door. I tossed the Supernatural books into my bag. I stripped out of my day clothes and changed into the pair of pajamas I had packed. They were purple with polka-dots, real twelve-year-old like. I debated turning off the lights or not, but I knew I would sleep better with them on. Not that would make much of a difference with the supernatural creature running around here.

I was back in my high school, walking down the halls. Every student and teacher I ever knew was laying in the school hall, dead. But it didn't seem to phase me. My mother sat on the other end of the hall at our kitchen table, facing the wall. As I got closer, she turned around, revealing blood dripping down her face.

"Why, Thea? Why?" she cried.

Harry and Max entered. They sat down at the table, almost zombie like. A shower of blood started falling from the ceiling hitting my family. I looked down. My hands were covered.

I woke up, gasping for air. I was not in my school nor house, but still in the hotel, laying sideways in the bed. I sat up and looked out the window. It was raining.

The clock on my phone read 2:14. Had I really slept that long?

Angry yells came from above. I opened my door and peeked my head out. Ms. Thompson was yelling at Sam and Dean, as she pushed them out the door of the inn. What? No!

A car roared as they drove off.

I couldn't believe it. They actually left me. Guess Dean didn't care after all. I didn't know why I was so surprised. I barely knew the guys, why should they care?

I decided to take a shower, scrubbing my head and skin hard. The feeling of blood on my hands from my dream seemed to have left a mark as it still felt something was there.

I got out and put on a pair of skinny shirts and a plain white t-shirt. I applied make-up and put my hair into a side-braid.

I sat down on to the bed as I tied my Converse. But as my thoughts rolled, I found myself staring out the window watching Ms. Thompson place boxes into her car. An old pick up truck passed by. Sherwin was in the front seat.

A breeze blew and the swings on the play set began to rattle. The teeter-totter moved up and down. Ms. Thompson reached out to stop it. As soon as it did, the merry-go-round started spinning out of control. And if things couldn't get any weirder. Her car. Her freaking car drives towards her with no one in the front seat. I jumped up, shocked and terrified, I ran downstairs and out the door. I would be too late, I knew it. Oh God, oh God. If I got out there on time anyway, what was I supposed to do?

Sam dove and pulled Ms. Thompson out of the way. Her car had crashed into the swings, breaking the poor children's toy. Dean ran over.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

"I-I think so," Ms. Thompson muttered. She looked ill.

"Come on, let's get inside," Dean said.

I watched them enter the hotel, waiting behind.

"You coming, Thea?" Dean asked.

I was giddy with excitement. I smiled and nodded. Sam shot me a confused look, but didn't say anything. It wasn't a good time.

We walked into the hotel's bar. Sam and Dean tended to Ms. Thompson. She was breathless. I sat next to her and tried to as comforting as I could be.

"Whiskey," Ms. Thompson demanded.

"I know the feeling," Sam said. He grabbed her a glass and bottle.

"What the hell happened out there?"

"You want the truth?" Dean asked.

"Of course!"

"Well, first we thought there was some kinda hoodoo curse going on," he explained. "But that thing out there? That was definitely a spirit.

She poured herself another shot, downing it in one sip. "You're insane."

"It's been said."

"Sorry, Susan. We don't exactly have time to ease you into this," Sam said. "When did your mother have the stroke?"

"What's that have to do with—"

He cut her off. "Please just answer the question."

"About a month ago."

Sam nodded. "Right before the killings began." He turned to Dean. "What if Rose was working hoodoo...but not to hurt anyone."

"To protect them," I added. It made sense.

Sam shot me another confused look, but nodded.

"Rose's been using those five-spot urns to ward off the spirit," Dean explained.

"Until she had a stroke, couldn't do it anymore. And now it's back," Sam continued.

"I don't believe it," Ms. Thompson muttered.

"Look, sister, that car didn't run you down by itself," Dean said, "Well, I mean, it did, technically, but the spirit, it controls...Ah, just forget it."

"Look, believe what you want. But fact is, you and your family are in danger. You gotta get everybody out of here. Employees, your mother, your daughters, everyone," Sam stated more clearly.

"Um, I only have one daughter."

"One?"

"I thought Tyler had a sister, Maggie?" Dean asked.

"Maggie's imaginary," Ms. Thompson explained.

The two shot each other a look that could have meant anything but good.

"Where's Tyler?"

We burst out of the bar and ran through out of hotel, shouting for Tyler. No response. We checked up in the Thompson apartment. The dolls were dead. Bits and pieces laid all over the floor, cuts in the softer ones, there insides spilling out. It looked like a child had had a vicious temper tantrum.

"Oh my God," Ms. Thompson cried. "Tyler!" She ran up the stairs into the room above. Sam and Dean checked the doors and closets. I examined the mess. The doll house, an exact replica of the hotel, had a doll that I swear was Tyler. She was standing above the pool.

"She's not here!" Ms. Thompson said, running back in.

"Susan," Sam said, calmly. "Tell us what you know about Maggie."

She attempted to put herself back together. "Not much. Tyler's been talking about her since Mom got sick."

"Where'd Tyler get the name? Did you ever know anyone named Maggie?"

"No."

"Think," Dean demanded. "Someone who might've lived her. Someone who passed away?"

"Oh God. My mom," Susan beamed out. "My mom had a sister, Margaret. I mean, she barely spoke about her, but..." she trailed off.

"Margaret died when she was a girl?" Sam questioned.

Ms. Thompson nodded. "She drowned in the pool."

"Tyler's at the pool!" I exclaimed, pointing down at the dollhouse.

Dean nodded. "Come on."

We bolted out of the hotel and over to the pool pavilion. They rattled the doors. Locked.

Tyler was standing on the second level walkway, on the wrong side of the railing. She was terrified.

"Tyler!" Susan yelled.

Tyler turned towards our way. "Mommy?" She screamed as she fell down into the pool covered with plastic.

"Tyler!"

Sam and Dean kicked at the door. No difference.

"Damn, what's with this glass?" Dean muttered. "Is there another entrance?"

"Around back," Ms. Thompson answered.

"You keep trying," he told Sam. "Come on!" Him and Susan ran to the other side. I decided to stay.

I looked around for something harder to hit the door with.

"So how do you and Dean know each other?"

Really Sam? Does now really seem like a good time to ask?

"Long story."

A sturdy metal, patio chair was down a few feet away from us. I ran over to it, picking it up. Sam took it and swung at the door. There was a loud cracking sound, but the door only spiderwebbed.

"Stand back," Sam muttered.

I stepped back and shielded my face as Sam took another swing. Still standing there. He swung once more, the door finally breaking. He tossed the chair to the side and jumped in, down into the pool from the second story.

I ran in and peered over the railing. Tyler was struggling. It was breaking my heart.

Sam pulled her out and laid her down. There's a moment. She lays there, unmoving. Possibly not breathing. But then, she's alive, gasping for air, as she spits out water.

Relief washed over Sam and me.

Dean and Ms. Thompson finally got in. She fell to the floor and picked up her daughter, holding her tight. "Thank God, thank God."

"Tyler do you see Maggie?" Sam asked, gently.

Tyler looked around, confused. "She's gone."

I walked around to the first level and handed a towel to Tyler. Ms. Thompson helped her up, holding her close. She lead her back to their apartment. I followed close behind with Sam and Dean.

"Don't worry, honey, we're leaving in two minutes, we just gotta get Grandma," Ms. Thompson told her shaky daughter. They walked upstairs into Rose's room.

"I don't get. Did Maggie just stop?" Dean wondered.

"Seems like it," Sam said.

"But where'd she go?"

I was about to give a guess, when there was a scream from upstairs.

We ran upstairs. Susan was holding Tyler against her, terrified. In her wheelchair, Rose sat, her head flopped back, eyes glassy, mouth limp. She was dead.