Just her reflection

Casey let out a gasp when the Hellish Surgeon buried the chainsaw in the flesh, reaching the bone, spraying his scrubs and his half-covered face with blood. His victim's screams were horrible. Casey turned to the next page, his eyes shining, eager; the hero didn't take long to appear and chop his head off, saving his girlfriend's life, though she would had to live with only one arm from now on. That's soooo cool, Casey thought.

His mother didn't approve that kind of books, especially at bed time, but he wasn't afraid. Casey never had nightmares, because he knew those stories weren't real. Anyway, his mother wasn't there to tell him off. She had to work at night to pay bills and debts, even though he was at hospital with penumonia. But Casey wasn't afraid of being alone.

He seemed to sense something and raised his head, startled. His mother, maybe? She could have asked her boss to stay at night with him.

It wasn't her, but a doctor. Though not the doctor in charge of him since he was hospitalized. This one, he didn't know him.

Also, there was something odd about him. Something really odd.

It wasn't only the fact he seemed to be "outplaced" with his surroundings, almost faded, like in a homemade video. Mainly, it was the fact his clothes were stained in blood.

It stood out, eerily dark, over the typical green tone surgeons used. In the center, near the heart, the fabric was torn and burnt; it looked like a deep black hole. It was like if he had received a point-black shot in his chest.

Casey blinked, and the surgeon dissapeared. The boy let the book fall over his stomach, his eyes widely open. He looked half terrified and half fascinated, if both feeligns could be simultaneous. He didn't even scream.

The heart monitor alarm went off, franctic, an instant before it became flat. The nurses who ran to the blue code alarm didn't see the girl in a violet dress who was watching from the door.

"Hey, who are you, pretty boy?"

Dean smiled and winked an eye to his own reflection, pouring next some toothpaste into the brush.

It was a worldwide known truth that in a small town everybody knew each other, so he and Sam had agree on going out for a drink, visiting the pub -a place which was the main gossip source, along with queuing at the supermarket-. Also, if he could pick up some nice girl and get laid, the better. Two for one.

Sam hadn't take that long to get ready -Dean thought it was because he wasn't expecting to get "lucky" that night, what a nerd he was- and was consulting the laptop while waited for him. Dean could hear the muffled keyboard tapping from the bathroom.

"Are you done, pretty boy?" he heard Sam ask in a mocking voice. "Thinking about getting laid tonight? Let me remind you- we are working."

"Almost ready, you found something?" he mumbled, washing his teeth.

"I haven't found a darn thing. This took forever to pick up the Wi-Fi signal, I don't know what's wrong with this place. Anyway I hope we feel lucky in the pub... Not that kind of lucky, by the way, heartbreaker."

Dean shrugged and spit.

"I will always say it: Nothing like the information superhighway you find among the average, respetable citizens"

When he raised his head to pick up a towel, he saw her in the mirror, behind him.

The girl.

Dean turned around to face her, slowly, trying not to look startled. He barely heard his own voice.

"You are very young to spy in the boy's restroom, don't you think?"

The girl tilted his head, like wondering what he meant. Dean took a deep breath, slowly, feeling an odd and urgent tingling in his chest. His heart was beating normally, though; maybe a little too fast, even a little too hard, but normally. He hoped he would end it all before the girl started again with her dangerous little game; he didn't fancy to test himself on how many supernatural attacks could his heart tolerate before it exploded or something.

"Deeee-eeeeean..." Sam's voice sang impatiently from the hall.

The oldest Winchester didn't answer, neither asked for help. If Sam came he could be the victim this time, and he wasn't willing to put his brother in danger. Without moving his eyes from her, he spoke to the girl, softly.

"Hey, little one... We should talk. Smoothly. No tricks. Up to it?"

He took two steps forward. Three. His heart was pounding fast, making it difficult to breath. It's not her weird magic, it's you. Stupid, you've done this a million times, just relax, he thought. His heartbeat blowing in his ears was an eerie background music, making clear how afraid he was. He touched the gun he had in his jacket, as to feel safe. Shooting a little girl wasn't exactly ethical, but it was only salt. Also, she was dead already.

Waiting for the ghost girl to say something, Dean couldn't help but realize there was something different in her eyes. He couldn't be sure, but he would swear it was sadness. She wasn't smiling, that's for sure. For a single moment, the hunter felt in his insides a sickening surge of sadness. He even felt a lump in his throat. What the hell was happening?

This time, the attack caught him totally off ward.

It felt like the air were taken out from his lungs with a blow in his chest. The lightbulbs in the sink buzzed and switched on and off, quickly, like if they were flashing. One of them exploded.

Dean managed to get enough air to call his brother's name.

"SAM-!"

The youngest of the Winchester had already realized something was really wrong when the laptop switched off on its own and the lamp light in the sidetable winked. His brother's scream made him ran to the bathroom.

Dean was bent over in the floor, coughing and panting like if an invisible hand were squeezing in his chest. Sam kneeled before him and cupped his head in his hands, forcing him to look at him. Dean took hold of his brother's arm, struggling to breathe. His forehead was damped in sweat.

"Hey, hey, Dean- Dean! Can you listen me?" Sam whispered to him.

He realized his brother's gaze was fixed somewhere over his shoulder, but when he turned his head, he didn't see anything- until he looked at the mirror. Because the way she was situated, Sam only could see her back in the mirror; she was standing before them, partially hiding Sam's own reflection with Dean in his arms. Her hair, straigth and lifeless, fell through her back. It was that girl in a violet dress that Dean had described.

Sam felt the pressure in his arm growing weak, and when he looked at Dean he realized his eyes were starting to get out of focus.

"Hey, hey, no no no- don't pass out! Dean, stay with me! Stay with me!"

Sam turned his head. The girl was still there, only visible to Sam in the mirror.

"Stop this! You're killing him!" he yelled at the void of the bathroom. "What do you want from him?"

Dean let out a muffled moan when Sam made him lay on the floor. He hardly could maintain his eyes open. Sam searched for his heartbeat under his clothes and a cold panic seized him: he didn't feel a proper heartbeat, only a quivering. Sam knew there was no pulse, and if he didn't do something quick, he was going to lose him.

"It's okay, Dean- it's okay-"

He started to perform reanimation, massagging his chest, trying to force his heart to leave for some seconds that erratic rhythm. Come on, come on, just a little, he begged in silence; just enough to continue pumping while I try to figure this out-. Dean moaned feebly; his half-closed eyes didn't see him anymore. Sam continued with the massage, firmly and rhytmically, though he was terrified.

"It's okay" he panted "It's okay, bro, just hang in..."

The remaining lightbulb in the mirror burst out in a swarm of glass and sparkles. Sam felt the hair at the back on his neck staying on edge, a supernatural force coming from where the girl should be- if he could see her. He barely could hear his brother's struggles for breathing; panicking, Sam realized that if that girl remained there for one more minute, she will kill him. He pulled Dean's gun out of his pocket with a hand, the other still clutching at his brother's chest, afraid of what could happen if he retired it. He turned, his finger in the trigger...

But the girl's reflection had dissapeared from the mirror. Sam hesitated for an instant, puzzled. Suddenly, Dean jerked and took a shaky gulp of air, which ended in a coughing fit. Sam leaned over his brother, alarmed.

"Dean! Dean, are you okay?"

The older brother groaned in pain. He took some seconds before he talked.

"This can't be good for your health, kids-"

Sam breathed, relieved, and helped him to sit up, his back against the wall.

"You saw her- hey, Sammy-?" Dean asked, still woozy. Color was returning to his face, and when Sam grabbed his wrist he felt a steady, normal pulse. Thanks God, he thought.

"Yeah, I saw her" Sam answered. "Well, only her reflection. Don't move, just rest a little."

He headed to the sink and picked up a fresh towel to damp his brother's sweaty face. After some seconds Dean protested and took it from him.

"Damn it, Sam-" he moaned, impatiently, pressing the towel against his forehead. "Why didn't you talk to her?"

Sam shook his head in disbelief.

"I prefered preventing you from dying, Dean."

With a long, deep sigh, Dean rested his head against the tiled wall.

It has been a long day.