Hopeyourhappy- Thank you so much for your review! It really made my day when I read it and I love that you've picked up on Rae's growing relationship with Sam :) I also can't wait to write Rae finding out about Dean's deal!

Angeleyes31102 - Haha, that Dark Angel line was a complete coincidence! But good spot! Thank you for reviewing so regularly, it really means a lot :)

4. Bedtime Stories

I hauled another bag of M&Ms into my arms, just about able to see over the goodies I'd gathered. If the boys didn't like what I'd picked up, then tough. Next time they could get the snacks and I could sit, brooding in the car. Damn had there been a lot of brooding lately; like the boys had synced up on their cycles. I'd thought it best not to ask if they were PMS-ing.

I dropped my stash onto the counter. The guy behind it looked from me to the pile, and back again.

"This isn't all for me I swear."

He didn't look as if he believed me but started scanning the items without any other judgemental looks. My eyes widened at the total. Since when did binging on junk food get so damn expensive?

There was a chill in the air when I got outside, either that or I just felt cold at how much I'd spent. I sauntered over to the Impala and leaned down at Sam's open window.

"This is the last time I'm getting the snacks." I started throwing their share into the car. "You guys keep eating like hippos and I'm gonna end up broke. Well… more broke, which I didn't think was possible." Instead of looking happy and thankful at having free food thrown into their laps, they both bore faces like they'd been chewing on lemons.

"Were you two arguing again?" This had been a recurring issue, no let-up in sight. They saved the worst of it for when I wasn't around—which I was eternally grateful for—but I still had to deal with the aftermath: the withering glares, the stony silences, and the snide comments. These two were worse than a couple of feral street cats.

I sighed. "For the last time, Sam's the better looking brother, Dean. You just have to live with it." No hint of a smile or snarl. "Okaaay, then. Tell me about the brutal murders to lighten the mood." I put my food down on the hood and crossed my arms on the edge of the door. Dean didn't even bitch at me for putting food on his baby. They must have had one hell of an argument.

"Psychotic killer…" Sam began, grabbing the newspaper left on the dash," rips victims apart with brute-like ferocity."

"Any mention of his razor sharp teeth or his four-inch claws? Animal eyes?" Dean asked stonily.

"No," said Sam. "But the lunar cycle's right. Look, if it is a werewolf we don't have long; the moon's full this Friday and that's the last time it changes for a month."

Werewolves again. Fun. Let's just hope that this time I wouldn't get stuck in a strip club with Dean for hours on end.

"Two days, no sweat," Dean said.

I tapped the door and pushed myself back. "Let's get rolling then. You two gonna survive the drive?" More stony silence. "I'll take that as a maybe."

When we got to Maple Springs, New York, we booked into our motel and swiftly changed into our suits. Time was against us on this case, so we needed to move fast. Once ready, and with the boys slightly cooled down, we headed to the hospital to speak to the surviving victim… and only eyewitness.

"Hi Kyle. I'm Detective Plant, Detective Page," Dean said, introducing himself and Sam, before nodding towards me. "And this is Detective Bonham. We're with the County Sheriff's Department."

The guy laying in the hospital bed didn't look too banged up, you know, considering he had a run in with a werewolf. Some might even say he was lucky. The only visible injuries were four deep scratches just about his left eye, plus some minor ones on his hands and arms.

"Yeah, uh, I've been expecting you," he said.

"You have?" Dean asked—it wasn't the usual response we got from people we were questioning under false pretences.

"All morning," he replied. "You are the sketch artists, right?"

"Uhm." Sam turned to Dean in a panic.

Dean just smiled and ran with it. "Absolutely. Yeah, that is exactly who my partner is." He pointed right at Sam. "The things he can do with a pen..."

Sam turned to him, making sure Kyle couldn't see him, and shot him a 'what are you playing at' kind of look. I, for one, thought it was pretty funny.

"But listen before we get started on that," Dean continued. "I wanted to ask you, uh, how'd you get away?"

Kyle shook his head fractionally. "I–I have no idea. I was hiding, and he found me. He was coming right for me and then he just... stopped. Staring at me with this blank look. And after that he just took off running."

He not it. This didn't exactly sound like your typical werewolf attack. Why would a werewolf turn away from a kill?

"Okay." Sam sighed then took out his notepad and pen. "Um, I'm going to need as much physical detail as you can remember."

"Uh, yeah. Uh, he's about six feet tall... Dark hair..."

"Uhm, what, what about his eyes, what colour eyes did he have?"

Kyle frowned, trying to recall. "Maybe… blue? It was dark."

"Did they seem, uhm… animal-ish?"

The phrase had obviously taken Kyle aback. "Excuse me?"

I stepped in. "What my partner means is, was there anything almost animalistic about him? Maybe like his teeth?"

I hadn't made it any better as Kyle looked at me like I was an oddball. I'd been at the receiving end of that look a time or two. "No, they were just teeth."

"Teeth, okay," Sam muttered as he continued his sketch.

"How about his fingernails?" Dean asked.

Fine... I could start to see why Kyle thought the questions were a little strange. We sounded like a bunch of foil-hat wearing psychos.

"Okay, look, he's just a normal guy, with normal eyes and teeth and fingernails!"

Sam tried to settle him down. "Look sir, it's okay if—"

"No," Kyle said firmly. "No. Those were my brothers. This guy, he… he killed my brothers. How would you feel?"

Well… It was hard not to flash back to the past with that statement, with that same pain in his eyes I'd seen when I'd looked in the mirror back then. There was no pain like it.

"Can't imagine anything worse," Sam murmured.

The boys were obviously feeling it too. I mean, Dean had first hand experience of losing a brother.

"I know this isn't easy," he said, "but if you could remember any more details..."

"Th—there was one more thing he had a tattoo on his arm of a cartoon character. Umm..." Kyle's frustration was building, "it's, uh, it's the guy who's chasing the Roadrunner—"

"Wile E. Coyote!" Dean looked rather pleased with himself.

Kyle nodded. "Yeah, that's it."

A doctor walked up to Kyle's bedside. "Kyle?"

"Dr. Garrison."

"How you holding up?" he asked.

"Okay, considering."

"You're Kyle's Doctor?" Dean asked him.

"Yes."

"Can I just ask you a few questions?"

"Sure."

Dean led the doctor out of the room. Sam and I turned to follow when Kyle said, "Don't I get to see it?"

Sam shot me a panicked look. We both knew what Kyle was talking about. Oh boy, this was gonna be good.

"Uh, yeah. Yeah," Sam stumbled over the words. "Yeah. Uhm, yeah, it's a, you know… work in progress."

He passed the notepad to Kyle and I headed to his side so I could get a look. And I tell you what, I deserved every gold star going for not bursting into laughter. It looked more like a vampiric Stay Puft Marshmallow man than anything else. And his little doodle of the Wile E. Coyote tattoo was adorable.

"Hmm," Kyle murmured. "It—it's really... huh."

Yeah… there were no words for that masterpiece.

We left Kyle with that lasting impression and headed outside to wait for Dean to finish talking to the doc. I couldn't stop the giggles while Sam grumbled at me.

"I'm sorry, but you have the artistic skills of an eight year old."

"Oh yeah?" he said. "Well, let's see you try."

Thankfully, before he could put my pitiful skills to the test, Dean came outside and we started walking back to the car.

"So… where is it?" Dean asked.

"Where's what?" Sam, still grumbling, asked.

"Your sketch."

I laughed again at Sam's groan. But he handed it over and braced for the ridicule.

Dean's eyebrows skyrocketed when he saw it. "Boy, this is a piece of, uh, art. Really."

"Yeah, like you could've done any better." Sam went to take it back from his brother, but I snatched it away. "Hey, give that back."

"Sorry, Sammy." I grinned. "This is getting framed."

"Hey, how come you don't tell her not to call you Sammy?" Dean asked, suddenly offended.

"I do! Sometimes. I just—"

I smiled up at Dean, sweet as honey. "I'm too cute to say no to."

Dean scoffed. "Actually, you're—"

Sam jumped in. "So what did the doc have to say about Kyle's brothers?"

"Not much," Dean answered. "They were D.O.A. at the scene. He did give me the lowdown on the coroner's report."

"Lemme guess, their hearts were missing," Sam said.

"Nope. But chunks of their kidneys, lungs and intestines were."

"Chunks? Eww." That was somehow way worse than just having one's heart removed.

"That's just gross," Sammy agreed.

"Yeah, also definitely not werewolf behaviour."

"So, what?" asked Sam. "Demon? Attacker could've been possessed."

"Why would a Demon stop halfway through an attack?"

Same thought as I'd had originally about the werewolf. Why would any monster stop halfway through?

"I think that, uh..." Sam mumbled. "Could've... Yeah, I got nothing."

"Me neither," I said.

This one was gonna be a head-scratcher.

We'd hit a brick wall. Back at the motel, we'd been combing the net and books for hours. There were things that were possibilities, but nothing felt quite right. Nothing felt like it fit. Sam had even scanned through John's journal to no avail. We were stuck and I just couldn't concentrate anymore.

My gaze caught sight of the journal Sam had left on the bedside table. My mind began to wander away from the case.

When I had moments alone, I'd been continuing my little side project: researching reapers, to be precise. I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more than just regular old sibling spats the boys were hiding from me. I couldn't think of what though. The only thing I kept coming back to? Dean's easy, throwaway explanation of what had happened to Sam.

"Right," Dean said, slamming his book closed. "I can't take this anymore. I need fuel."

Sam rubbed his eyes having been staring at the laptop screen for the last two hours. "Yeah, all right. I can't see us getting much further tonight."

They both got up and donned their jackets. They were almost out the door before realising I hadn't moved.

"Rae, you coming?" Sam asked.

John's journal was in reach. This could very well have been my one and only shot at getting to look through it alone. I knew Sam wouldn't mind. But Dean? That was a whole other story. I had to do it when he wasn't around. Did I feel bad about going behind the brothers' backs to look through their dad's stuff? Honestly? Not even remotely.

"You know what? I'm not that hungry," I said.

They both frowned in unison. "What are we thinking?" Dean said to Sam without taking his eyes off me. "Possessed? Doppelganger?"

Of course they weren't gonna buy that. Oh well, there was always one thing us girls could fall back on that would work a treat.

"If you must know," I winced and rubbed at my lower stomach. "I'm not up to eating. These back aches and cramps have been killing me all day."

Sam's eyes widened slightly. Poor Dean just looked confused.

"Cramps?" he asked. "What are you talking—"

Sam leaned over and whispered in his ear.

Dean's eyes nearly fell out of their sockets as he started backing up to the exit. "Oh. Oh. Well, erm, we're gonna go. Leave you to… do your thing." I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing at Dean's discomfort. "If that's ok, of course. We'll just… Bye." He ran out the door.

Sam smiled, still a little awkward, but nothing compared to his brother. "Bye."

"Bye." I smiled at him as he left.

Men. They were—

The door opened again, and Sam popped his head in. "You need us to get you anything? You know… girl stuff?" Was that a slight blush on his cheeks?

"I'm good," I chuckled. "Thanks, though."

"Right. Bye."

He was gone again. Oh, Sammy.

I waited until I heard the Impala pull away before I went for the journal. Ok, I had maybe lied before, about not feeling bad about going through the journal. I knew I needed to do it, to set my mind at ease, but I knew how important this thing was to the brothers—especially now that John wasn't around. So with cautious hands, I picked up the journal, heavy with its fountain of information inside. I opened the front cover. The inside jacket was decorated with military medals. He'd certainly lived up to them, even long after his service. There was a set of initials at the bottom: HW. So it hadn't originally been his then? His father's maybe? And there was the picture I'd seen of him, when it had fallen to the asylum's floor what seemed like so long ago. I really should have thanked him when I had the chance. I wouldn't have been standing here today if he hadn't shown up that night. Even the nights after, when I felt like I had absolutely nothing to live for, when I'd been thrown out, he was there. A wave of shame suddenly washed over me as I felt like I was betraying him, going through his things without asking. But I needed to know. I skipped through the pages until I reached the ones about reapers. I began to read, but my hope faded with each sentence. There was nothing there. Nothing that would ease my suspicions one way or another. I put the journal back where it had been and slumped down on to the chair.

There had to be some way of finding out for sure. I couldn't ask Sam. I couldn't ask Bobby. There was no one else that I… wait. There was one person.

I grabbed my phone from my jacket and scrolled through the contacts. When I found who I was looking for, I hit dial.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Hi, Ellen. Erm, it's Rae. You know, Devil's Gate, cemetery, end of the world—"

She chuckled. "I know who you are. What do you need?"

I knew I needed to tread lightly with how I explained this. I certainly didn't want her calling up Bobby to tattle on me. "This might sound a little random but how much do you know about reapers?"

"Hmm. Not a lot, but it might help if you could be more specific."

"Right." I blew out a breath. "Do you know if… if reapers can bring people back from the dead?"

A pause. "Why do you wanna know?" she asked, and I knew exactly by the tone of her voice why she had paused.

"Oh, no, no, no. I don't wanna bring anyone back. I mean, maybe Elvis if we could get him back in his prime. Or Princess Diana. That would be a good one. Or even—"

"Rae?"

"Yeah?"

"You're rambling."

Well of course I was rambling! I was nervous. For what reason, I didn't really know. Though I knew Ellen was probably my last best bet.

"Yeah." I cleared the frog in my throat that had suddenly appeared. "I just mean that I have no intention of bringing anyone back. This is just for… research purposes."

"Hmm." The suspicion hadn't fully cleared from her voice, but she carried on anyways. "Well, I happen to know a hunter who's had a couple of run ins with some. I can call him, see what he knows?"

It may not have been what I was after, but it still felt like a weight had been lifted. "That would be great. Thank you."

"No problem."

"Wait," I said before she could end the call. "Can you not mention this to Dean or Sam. Or Bobby. Not that I think they'd ask, but if they do…"

"Just a research project?" Oh that was full-blown suspicion right there.

I nodded even though she couldn't see me. "Just a research project."

"All right. I'll call you back when I can."

"Thanks again."

Hopefully within twenty-four hours, I would know for sure if Dean had lied to me or not.

While we were figuring out what to do the next morning, we heard about another strange incident on the news. Once again, we headed for the hospital. We were walking down the corridor when all of a sudden the boys grabbed one of my arms each and steered me to the nurses' station.

"What are you—"

I caught sight of two police officers heading our way. That answered that question. When they passed us, we continued on to Julie Watson's room. Just as Kyle had been, she was the only survivor and witness to what had happened earlier that morning.

In her room, the doctor from yesterday was trying to soothe an inconsolable Julie. "Shh. Hey, we need to observe you while the drugs might still be in your system."

"I have to go," she sobbed. "I have things to do, arrangements I need to make."

"It can wait," he insisted. "Now you need to rest. Stay. I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Detectives," he said as he met us by the door.

"Dr. Garrison." Dean greeted him.

"What the hell is going on here?" The doc asked. "My whole town is going insane."

"We'll let you know as soon as we do," said Sam.

The doc looked like he wanted to say more but left before he could voice it.

"Miss Watson?" Dean asked as we walked into the room. "Hi. We just need to ask you a few questions."

"Do we have to go over this again? Now?" I almost wanted to agree, her voice was still shaking. But I knew we couldn't wait to find answers. And right then, she was the only lead we had.

"We'll try to be brief," Sam said gently. "Miss Watson, can you tell us how you got away?"

She opened her mouth, but words failed her. She shook her head and tried again. "I didn't eat as much as Ken did, so I wasn't as out of it." Her tears began to run free as the shaking of her voice intensified. "And, when the old woman was... carving up Ken, I shoved her, and she fell. Cracked her head on the stove."

She paused, looking up at the three of us, then asked, "She's dead, right? I—I killed her?" She didn't look like she actually wanted the answer. I think she already knew it anyway.

"Do you have any idea why she'd do this to you?" I asked. Sweet little old grannies didn't just go around carving people up. And yet… there was something strangely familiar about her story.

"No!" Her voice had faded to a faint, trembling whisper. "One minute she was a sweet old lady and the next she was, like, a monster."

So what changed? Sure sounded like something paranormal was going on. But what? I had no damn idea.

"Can you remember anything else?" asked Sam.

She looked away, scanning the frightening memories in her mind. "Um, yeah. Did you find a little girl there, by any chance?"

"A little girl? At the house?" Sam asked.

"I thought I saw her outside the window. She, she just disappeared. Just vanished, into thin air. It m—must've been the drugs."

Just when you thought things couldn't get weirder… she just had to throw in a creeping child.

"This disappearing girl—what did she look like?" Sam continued questioning.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes," Dean said adamantly. "Every detail matters."

Julie didn't question it any further. Instead, her brow furrowed as she tried to recall the details. "She had this dark, dark hair and really pale skin. She was around eight. She was a beautiful child. It was... odd to see her in the middle of something so horrible."

Immediately we drove out to the crime scene. We weren't expecting to find the little girl, but boy did it feel good to finally have a lead… even if that lead made no goddamn sense whatsoever. But what part of any of this made sense? We had a guy whose 2 friends got eaten by a probably-not-werewolf, and a girl whose brother got murdered by a sweet old lady in the woods. Again, strange… strangely familiar, like I'd heard about these cases before. Maybe I had…

We pulled up to the cottage, which was off a dirt road, surrounded by trees. The dainty blue house looked the furthest thing from a crime scene. The inside was the same. If someone told you to picture a little old lady's cottage, it wouldn't have looked far from this. Immediately we split up. Upstairs, I took out my EMF meter as I swept each room. Nothing registered as I walked down the hall that was lined with photos, both old and recent, of what had to be the old gal's family. She looked like she wouldn't have hurt a fly. Furthest thing from a murderer you could get, too.

I went back downstairs and met the boys in the main room.

"Well, there's no sulfur anywhere," Dean said as he wiped his hands with a rag. "How about the EMF?"

I didn't need to respond about my lack of findings, as Sam's EMF whirred.

"Yeah, it's going nuts when I went over here by the window," he answered. "There's definitely a spirit here."

"Who stood outside the crime scene and watched?"

To be fair to Dean, it did sound a little peculiar. But when did we ever not deal with peculiar?

"Looks like," Sam said.

"What the hell do you make of that?" Dean asked.

"Actually I do have a theory. Uh, sort of."

"Me too," I said. "But it's weird, so you go first." The more I looked around the little house, the more I thought about the cases together, the more that familiarity grew. I knew I'd heard of these cases before… these stories.

Sam hesitated before saying, "Mine's weird too."

I asked, "Say it together on three?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Christ."

Ignoring Dean's mutter, I said, "One, two, three…"

"Fairy tales," Sam and I said in unison. We followed it up with matching grins. Good to know I wasn't completely crazy. Or at least if I was, I wasn't alone in it.

Dean shook his head like he couldn't believe what he'd heard. "Fairy tales?"

"A guy and a girl?" Sam said as he picked up his jacket from a chair and shrugged it back on. "Hiking through the woods, an old lady tries to eat 'em? That's Hansel and Gretel."

"And then we got three brothers," I added, "arguing over how to build houses, attacked by the Big Bad Wolf."

"Three Little Pigs," Dean said. It seemed like he was coming around to the theory pretty quick. Quicker than I'd have thought.

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Actually those guys were a little chubby." Dean shook his head. "Wait, I thought those things ended with, uh, everybody living happily ever after?"

"No, no. Not the originals. See the Grimm Brothers' stuff was kinda the folklore of its day; full of sex, violence, cannibalism," Sam explained.

"Whereas now they've been sanitized. And they're now the Disney flicks and bedtime stories kids know and love," I said.

"So you guys think the murders are uh, what? A re-enactment? That's a little crazy." Dean began packing up the bags we'd bought in.

"Crazy as what? Every day of our lives?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Touché. How's the creepy ghost girl involved?"

Sam and I looked at each other, this time with a blank look on our faces. I shrugged. "I got nothing on that one."

Sam said, "Well, she must've been here for a reason. I'm willing to bet you top dollar she was at the construction site too."

Dean paused and looked down with a slight shake of his head. "We gotta do research now, don't we?"

I reached over and pinched his cheek. "Aww Deany-weany's got to read a booky-wooky. Ow!" I slapped my hand to my forehead where Dean had flicked me.

As I scoured through what felt like the hundredth report we'd gathered in the library, I heard a thunk from beside me. Dean's head was flat on the table.

"Someone put a bullet in my brain," he mumbled against the table top.

"Now, now," I tutted. "Don't go around saying stuff like that… someone might actually do it." Hey, who was I to ignore a desperate cry for help? If a bullet was what he wanted…

Dean lifted his head and scooted his chair back. "This was a waste of time." He got up and stormed for the exit.

To be fair, he wasn't far off. There had been nothing overtly weird in any of the reports we'd found. Which meant no leads. It seemed like we were back to square one. I stood and hurried after Dean, catching up to him just as he flung the library's door open.

Sam was waiting for us outside.

"So?" he asked, as the three of us walked side by side.

"We checked every record they had," Dean continued grumbling. "Found the usual amount of violent childhood deaths for a town this size."

"Okay."

"Wanna know how many how many were little girls with black hair and pale skin?" Dean asked.

Sam wore a wry smile. "Zero."

"Zero! You wanna know how many little girls with black hair and pale skin have gone missing? Right again," he said, not giving Sam an opening to respond. "Zip. Zilch. Nada. Tell me you've got something good 'cause we've totally wasted the last six hours."

I sighed. "Dean, we were in there for two hours. Two."

He mumbled something under his breath then shook his head. "Felt like longer."

"Well, you ever hear of Lillian Bailey?" Sam asked, receiving a couple of blank looks from myself and Dean. "She was a British medium from the 1930s."

"She got a thing for fairy tales?" Dean asked.

"Nah, trances. See she'd go into these unconscious states where, uh, get this, her thoughts and actions were completely controlled by spirits."

Sounded like a bunch of BS, but you never really could say for sure in our line of work.

"A ghost puppet master," Dean said.

"Yeah."

"Think that's what this kid is doing?" Dean asked. "Sending wolfboy and grandma into trances, making them go kill-crazy?"

"Could be. You know, kinda like uh, uh, spirit hypnosis or somethin'."

"Trances I get, but fairy tale trances? That's bizarre even for us." Looked like Sam and I were on our own on this one.

There was a sudden low, croaking sound. The three of us stopped in our tracks and looked down. In the middle of the path we'd been walking on, was a frog. On a normal day, it may not have been too weird, but first, given the case we were on, it was a tad unnerving and damn coincidental. Second… it really looked like Kermit was staring us down.

"Yeah, you're right. That's completely normal," Sam said.

"All right, maybe it is fairy tales. Totally messed-up fairy tales." Without taking his eyes off the frog, Dean nudged me. "I think this is the part where you kiss the frog, Princess."

"Me? Nah, he's making eyes at you. Besides," I said, turning to Dean with a smug grin and a pointed look, "I think I've done my fair share of kissing frogs."

Dean slowly turned his head towards me, but before he could kill me with his withering stare, Sam spoke.

"Hey. Check that out." He pointed across the street to a house.

"Yeah? It's close to Halloween." Dean had spotted the lone pumpkin sitting on the porch. What he hadn't done, was made the connection. The boy really didn't know his fairy tales.

"You remember Cinderella?" Sam asked. "With the pumpkin that turns into a coach, and the mice that become horses?" Just as he said that, a mouse scurried behind the pumpkin. If that didn't wave a big "we're-so-dealing-with-fairy-tales" flag in front of Dean's face, I didn't know what would.

"Dude, could you be more gay? Don't answer that."

My mouth dropped open at Dean's comment to his brother. "Wha—what is wrong with you?" I slapped him on the shoulder and took Sam by the arm, dragging him across the street. "Come on, let's see if the ugly stepsisters are home."

We climbed the porch steps, Dean's heavy thuds following us, and I knocked on the door. There was no answer and it didn't sound like anyone was inside. Dean stepped forward and picked the lock. We crept inside the house and—

"Well who knows, maybe you'll find your fairy godmother?" Dean said to Sam.

"Moron," I muttered as I pushed past him and started searching the house.

The three of us went in different directions, the house still and silent, but before we could even step out of each other's eyeline, there was a crash from down the hall. In unison, we reached for our guns and headed towards the back of the house. Each room we went in was empty. The place was certainly lived in but there was still an eerie feeling about it all. Maybe it was just the fairy tale thing putting the freaks on things.

"Help! I'm in here!" A woman cried out.

We dove for the last room—the kitchen—and found a young woman chained to the stove.

"It's okay," Sam said as he knelt down in front of her. "We're here, we're here. We got you."

"You have to help me," the woman cried. "She's a lunatic." The poor girl's wrists had been rubbed raw by the handcuffs and her elbows were black and blue. And someone had gone a couple of rounds with her face. Our Cinderella had really been through it.

"What happened?" Dean asked.

"My stepmom, she just freaked out, screamed at me, beat me. She chained me up." The words came rushing out of her in a terrified tremor.

"Where is she now?" I asked.

"I don't know," she sobbed.

"Hey," Dean said, his attention back down the hallway. I looked to see what had caught his eye. A girl with dark hair and pale skin stood at the end of the hall, staring at us. At once, she turned and walked away. Dean and I got up to follow her. This must have been the same girl Julie had seen back at the old lady's house. We walked back to the front of the house and when we turned the corner, there she was again, standing in the doorway, staring at us. Now that was freaky.

"Please tell me I'm not the only one getting Shining vibes," I said to Dean.

Both of us continued to stare at her as Dean said, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

I gave him a push. "You go talk to the creepy little girl."

He scowled at me but stepped forward anyway. However, the girl took off. We once again followed after her, and I was too prideful to admit out loud, that I may have made sure I stayed behind Dean. What could I say, the girl looked creepy as hell.

We traced her path into the living room, but she'd disappeared. Yet a tingle went down my spine. "She's behind us, isn't she?" I whispered.

We both turned slowly to find her standing behind us.

"Who are you?" Dean asked.

She continued to stare, until she started flickering and faded, just like a damn ghost. And in the place where she had been standing, was a shiny red apple.

I shivered, like someone had just walked over my grave. "Like I said… creepy."

But if nothing else, at least now I could be sure we were dealing with fairy tales. But what it all meant? I had no idea.

Sirens sounded from outside the house. The cavalry had arrived, which meant we needed to leave. Dean and I headed out the back while Sam dealt with the girl and the paramedics. We waited down the street, back where the Impala was parked, as Dean tossed the apple between his hands.

"Do me a favour and don't eat that." Given what happened in the fairy tale, I didn't think it would be the best idea. "Not that I think you've ever willingly eaten a piece of fruit in your life."

Dean began to scowl at me again, when it suddenly faded and a glint lit his eyes. Oh boy, here we go… "Actually, I have. Strawberries. Dipped in chocolate. Off a woman's—"

"Paramedics picked up Cinderella," Sam said as he jogged across the road.

Thank God. I mean it was great that Cinderella was in good hands now, but I was more grateful for Sam's interruption. I really didn't want Dean to finish that sentence; the images it conjured were bad enough. Pig.

"So..." Dean said as he tossed the apple to Sam. "Little girl, shiny red apple. I'm guessing that means something to you two?"

"Snow White," Sam and I said together.

"Snow White? Ah I saw that movie. Or the porn version anyway, 'cause there was this wicked Stepmother? Woo, she was wicked. Ow!"

Maybe one day I wouldn't have to hit Dean for the stupid things that came out of his mouth. Today was obviously not that day.

"There is a wicked stepmother," Sam explained. "And she tries to kill Snow White with a poison apple."

"But the apple doesn't actually kill the girl, right?" Dean asked.

"No. Puts her into a deep sleep, so deep it's almost like she's dead."

Huh. That made sense why Dean and I couldn't find anything in the records or newspaper articles. The ghostly girl may not be a ghost after all.

We jumped in the Impala and headed to the hospital.

"No, sorry. We don't have any comatose little girls," a nurse explained. Damn, that shot that theory into the ground. It really had sounded plausible.

"You sure?" Sam asked.

"Totally," she responded. "It's mostly old guys. And, well... Callie. She's been around since before I started here."

"Callie?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, it's so sad. And poor Dr Garrison, he just won't give up on her."

"Is Callie one of his patients?" I asked.

The nurse shook her head as if it were unusual we didn't know who she was. "No. His daughter."

His daughter? "Where can we find her?" I asked.

She sent us in the direction of Callie's room, and as we approached, we could hear the soft words of Dr Garrison.

"...and the Huntsman stepped inside, and in the bed lay the Wolf. So the Huntsman took a pair of scissors and cut open the Wolf's belly."

Dr Garrison was sitting at the bedside of a young woman, reading from a book that looked as if he'd leafed through its pages hundreds of times before. The woman had long dark hair and pale skin. Just like the girl we'd seen at Cinderella's house. This had to be it. This had to be the core of the case.

Dr Garrison noted our presence at the door and stood from the bed. "Detectives. Can I help you?"

"We just heard that Callie is your daughter," Dean said.

Sam added, "And we wanted to say how very sorry we are."

"Well, uh. Thank you. If you'll excuse me." He passed us out into the corridor, clearly wanting an end to the conversation. Couldn't say I blamed him for it, but we also couldn't grant him his wish.

"Oh, we're heading this way," Dean said as we followed. "We'll walk with you. How long's Callie been like that?"

The doctor frowned, obviously not wanting to answer.

"We don't mean to intrude," I said, trying to ease what I know was going to be a difficult conversation for him. We really had no choice though. "We can't possibly understand how hard it must be for you seeing her like this."

He sighed. "It's not easy. She's uh, been here since she was eight years old."

Damn, that had to be tough. It also explained why we were seeing a younger version of Callie at the crime scenes.

"That's when she was poisoned?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. Swallowed bleach," Dr Garrison explained. "Never figured out how she got her hands on the bottle. My wife found her, brought her to the ER and I was on call."

That must have been harrowing, seeing his young daughter wheeled into the hospital.

"Your wife was uh, was that Callie's stepmother?" Dean asked gingerly.

Dr Garrison stopped in his path. "Actually, yes. How'd you know that?"

Dean shrugged in that innocent, carefree way he did. "Lucky guess."

Dr Garrison seemed to buy it as he explained the story. "Well, Julie was the only mother that Callie ever knew. My wife passed away last year and, uh ... it's just my daughter and me now. She's all I've got left. Um, excuse me. I've gotta get back to work."

He all but sprinted off down the hall.

"Well you're right," Dean said as we made our own way through the hospital. "It's Snow White in spades."

"Yep. Stepmom poisons the girl, puts her into a deep sleep. What's the motive you think?" Sam asked.

"Could be like Mischa Barton," Dean said. "'Sixth Sense' not 'The O.C.'"

"What?" Sam asked.

"Hey, you know fairy tales, I know movies. She played the pasty ghost. You know the, uh, remember the mom had that thing you know, where you keep the kid sick so you get all the attention?"

"Oh yeah, yeah uh… Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. Huh, could be." Sam seemed quite proud of Dean for that one.

"So say all these years, Callie's been suffering silently because nobody knows the truth about what mommy dearest did?" Dean said.

Sam agreed. "And after all this time her spirit just gets angrier and angrier, until it finally just starts lashing out."

The two brothers were getting excited at the fact we'd more than likely just cracked the case wide open. Me? For some reason I couldn't put my finger on, I was still stuck at the image of Dr Garrison by his daughter's bed. After all these years, he had to know that the chance of her waking up was slim, to say the least. And yet he still read to her.

"Right," Dean continued. "Meanwhile she has to listen to Dad tell her these deranged stories about a rabid wolf or a cannibalistic old lady. It's enough to drive anybody nuts."

"OK, but how are we gonna stop her?" Sam asked. "I mean Callie's stuck here, her father's keeping her body alive."

Dean nodded. "It does make it a bit hard to burn the bones."

"You think?"

The doors to the hospital slid open.

"Coming in!" A couple of paramedics rushed in, wheeling an elderly lady on a bed.

"Okay, what's her status?" A doctor in scrubs asked.

"Seventy-two year old female, sustained multiple lacerations and puncture wounds. BP is eighty over forty and falling. Sinus tachycardia."

We walked over to the doors they'd wheeled her through, trying to get as close as we dared.

The doctor stood over the patient, his hand on her neck. "Is that a bite?"

"Looks like she was mauled by a mad dog or maybe a wolf?" The paramedic stated.

"What was the last story Dr Garrison was reading Callie?" Dean asked.

"Little Red Riding Hood," I answered.

The doctors continued to work on her. At one point there was a mad rush and they started doing chest compressions. It was a futile attempt. The doctor stepped back, looking at his watch, before a sheet was placed over the woman. Dammit. We had to stop this. Now. Before Dr Garrison went and read his daughter another story. It wasn't going to be simple. But first… we had to end the story.

"Excuse me," Sam asked the paramedic that had come in with the patient, who was filling out paperwork at the nurses' station. When he looked up, we flashed him our badges. "Was she the only victim?"

"She was found by the side of the road, barely alive. Alone," he explained.

"We need to find her next of kin," Dean said.

He flipped through the papers on the clipboard he was holding. "She has a granddaughter."

Bingo! Hello, Little Red.

"Do you have an address?" Dean asked.

Without hesitation, the paramedic handed one of the pages over to Dean. We said our thank yous and made for the exit.

"Hey, you find a way to stop Callie, all right?" Dean said to Sam.

"What about you?" Sam asked.

"I'm gonna go stop the Big Bad Wolf. Which is the weirdest thing I've ever said."

Sam didn't need me there. If anyone could figure this thing out, it was him. And I had a feeling it was going to involve a lot of talk with the good doctor. The big bad wolf might be more of a handful, but damn would it be less painful than that conversation.

"I'm coming," I called out to Dean, catching up with him as Sam stayed back.

We jogged outside and clambered into the Impala. We had to stop the wolf before he could hurt the girl. We had to get our happy ever after. Not that this case had any chance of ending happy for Garrison, or for Callie. There was only one way that was gonna go.

"What's up with you?"

"What?" Dean's question jolted me from my thoughts. "Nothing."

He raised his eyebrows. "You haven't said a word in like twenty minutes. Must be a record. "

"Nothing's up, I've just been thinking."

His eyes widened. "Yikes."

"Shut up," I said, without any heat behind the words. I sighed. "It's just… sad, is all. She's been in that hospital since she was eight. I mean, her body's been there, but she's probably been gone for a long time. Must be tough."

Dean paused for a beat, before nodding. "Must suck, being stuck between two worlds."

"Sure, but also for the doc. It's always harder for the ones left behind." We all knew what Sam was really being left behind to do: to convince Dr Garrison to let his little girl go. And I didn't begrudge Sam the job. It was tough enough to have to deal with losing someone any way, let alone to have to be the one to choose to let them go. And yeah, maybe something about the whole thing reminded me of Sophie. I couldn't imagine being in a place where I would have ever willingly let her go. But this was a whole different situation. I needed to put my own thoughts and feelings to the back of my mind. There was a little girl that needed saving from the big bad wolf.

We soon turned down the street listed on the paper and Dean squealed to a stop in front of the house. We ran up the porch, drawing our weapons, and Dean kicked the door down in one go. There was no one in sight at first, until we turned into the sitting room and found a young girl was huddled in the corner. I left Dean to cover our backs as I lowered my gun and ran over to her. She was clearly shaken and had four long scratches down her cheek.

"Hey, sweetie," I said, kneeling next to her. "We're here to help. Are you ok?"

"Yeah—Aaahh!"

I spun at the girl's scream, but the man was already on Dean. He clenched his fists and knocked the gun out of Dean's hand.

I grabbed the girl and pushed her to the kitchen door. "Hide! Now!" As soon as I turned back to the fight, I got a fist in the face and fell to the floor. Damn, that son of a bitch was strong. I staggered to my feet in time to see Dean soaring through the air, landing with a sickening crash against the cabinets, causing glass to shatter over the floor. I lunged for wolf-man. My knuckles stung as the skin split as I threw punches at him. For all the good it did—he was just absorbing blow after blow. He knocked my next punch away and grabbed me by the collar of my jacket and threw me across the floor. I went skidding across the room… and landed at the feet of Callie, who watched on with disinterest. "Callie! You have to stop this!" I pleaded. But she paid no mind to me.

I pushed myself up and lunged for the man who had Dean pinned to the floor. I kicked the guy in the face. He fell back and I pounced. I tried to land more blows as I dodged his claws. He got his feet up around me and wrapped his legs around my waist, using the momentum to reverse our positions. Before he could strike me again, Dean dragged him back and pinned him to the floor. He threw a punch before raising a pair of scissors in his hands and—

"Whoa! Stop, stop!" The man yelled, causing Dean to freeze, the scissors ready to plunge down. "Where am I? What's going on?!" The panicked, confused look on his face told me he was human again. It was over.

I looked back to where Callie had been standing. She was gone.

Dean and I brought the man and girl to the hospital. I'd sat in the back with the girl, who couldn't stop trembling at the sight of the man sitting in the passenger seat. No matter the words I tried to use to calm her, or any explanation I tried to give, nothing could stop her fear. But she was alive. Now we just had to hope there was someone the hospital could call to come and take care of her.

The man hadn't been fairing any better. He was utterly confused, continuously asking questions we couldn't fully answer. Thankfully he had no memory of what had happened, what he'd done.

We left both of them in capable hands of the doctors, then went to find Sam. He was standing with Dr Garrison. Both of them looked like they'd been to Hell and back. It may have been selfish of me, but I was glad I'd missed it.

Dean gave them the lowdown of what had happened, making sure Dr Garrison knew we'd gotten to the girl in time, making sure he knew what he'd just had to do wasn't for nothing.

"The girl's really okay?" he asked.

All Dean and I could do was nod. It had been a heavy case in the end.

"So… it's really over," he continued. Not that he looked happy at the fact.

"Yeah. All thanks to you," Sam said with every bit of sincerity he had.

"Callie was the most important thing in my life. But I should've let her go a long time ago," Garrison said.

"See ya 'round, Doc," Dean said.

With the slightest chuckle, the doc replied, "I sure hope not."

We watched him walk away. Even though Callie had been gone for a long time, his world had still changed today. The weight of the decision would stay with him for a while. Poor guy.

"You know what he said? Some good advice," Dean said. Then it was his turn to walk away.

"What was that about?" I asked Sam.

He stood, staring after Dean. "No idea."

Back at the motel, I was packing up my bags, ready to leave. I guessed you could call this case a win, but it didn't feel like it. Not really. Not when everyone seemed to be feeling this lingering sadness. Just as I zipped up my bag and picked it up, my cell rang. Ellen's name flashed on the screen.

"Ellen?" I hadn't expected her to call back so soon.

"I finally managed to get hold of that hunter I was talkin' about."

"And?" I held my breath, waiting for her to continue.

"He's never seen a reaper bring back someone from the dead."

A weight settled in my stomach. "Right…" I didn't know why I was hanging all my hopes on some hunter that I'd never met; didn't even know the damn man's name but—

"But he has heard stories from others, and judging by what he's seen them do, in his words, it'd be 'damn moronic' to think they couldn't."

And just like that, the weight lifted.

"So it's possible?" I asked.

"Well, according to him it is."

"And you think he's a decent judge?"

She scoffed. "Would I have called him if I didn't?"

I chuckled to myself. "No. No, I don't think you would have. Thanks Ellen, I appreciate it."

"Don't thank me. Just don't go messin' arounf with somethin' you shouldn't be messin' with."

"I won't. I promise." Trust me, that would be the last thing I wanted. I ended the call with a sudden realisation. This was it. I couldn't keep questioning this, wondering if Dean's story had any truth to it. It was time to settle this.

I grabbed my bag back up and headed outside. Dean was putting his own bag in the Impala's trunk.

"Hey," I said as I wandered over to him.

"Hey yourself."

"I err… I got a question."

Dean slammed the trunk shut. "No I will not marry you. I know I'm your dream man and all but—"

I rolled my eyes so hard, I nearly gave myself a brain aneurysm. "Seriously, were you dropped on the head as a baby?"

He raised an arrogant eyebrow. "Is that your question?"

Honestly, how I hadn't killed that man yet was beyond me. I deserved an award for my saintly restraint. But I wasn't going to let him deter me from getting the answers I wanted. I took a deep breath. "I'm only gonna ask this one more time. Whatever your answer is, I'll believe it, and let it go. But I need to know for sure… did a reaper really bring Sam back?"

All humour fled from his face at my question. "This again? Why do you keep asking?"

Because I think you might be lying to me. But instead of voicing that, I shrugged. "Call it curiosity. And yeah, I know what it did to the cat. Humour me anyway."

He looked down and rubbed between his eyes, like my question was giving him a headache. Maybe it was. But I'd meant what I said: whatever he told me now in this moment, I would take as gospel. I just had to know. One more time.

"Is it true?" I prompted.

He looked across the parking lot and sighed. "I would have done anything to save my brother." He looked back at me. "I know you of all people know that. And I got damn lucky. If I hadn't had that bargaining chip with that reaper… I don't even want to think of what would've happened." He frowned, seeming to stare into a past that had a whole other storyline. "So yeah, Princess, it's true."

He was raw with emotion. I never would doubt his love for his brother, whether things had played out as he said or not. That would never be in question. And now, with Ellen's hunter somewhat backing up the story, at least in terms of its plausibility, and the haunted look in Dean's eye whenever Sam's death was brought up… I was gonna stick to my word. Right or wrong of me, I was gonna bury any and all doubt. For all our sakes.

I'd believe him.

I waved away any lingering uncertainty for the last time, and smiled. "Ok then. Where we headed next?"