A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this update took so long, I've just been busy. But I'm back now, and I'm already working on the next chapter. I hope you like this chapter :)

Please review, reviews are to me what pie is to Dean :)

Enjoy!

R&R

After that conversation, we had breakfast… well; technically it was lunch for them. I didn't really focus on the food because my mind was working a mile a minute.

What did that dream mean? Was it just a creation of my messed up mind, or something else entirely? I didn't really want to think about what the "Something else entirely" meant.

Perhaps I was just worrying, after all, some dreams were just dreams… right?

"Becca?" Sam asked.

I looked up from my food to look inquiringly at him. "Hmm?"

"Are you gonna eat that, or are you just gonna burn a hole in it?"

"Sorry." I shook my head, "Just thinking."

He stared at me for a while like he was going to ask something, but then he nodded, seeming to have changed his mind, and returned to his chicken sandwich.

I stared blankly at my own sandwich before nibbling on it a bit, not really tasting it.

What to do…

I looked up from my lunch and looked at the two, and I mean really looked, observing them. Sam looked a bit stiff as he ate. His tall figure was hunched over the table, his shoulders slightly tense. His appearance troubled me. He's been so tense, and angry, and twisted into knots since Jess died.

Why had I let this happen? I didn't care what the PDF said, how could I possibly do that to someone, especially if I knew the fallout, and what it would cause… I hoped in time that he would forgive me.

Dean, on the other hand, was happily scarfing down his sandwich, not a care in the world. I wished he'd stay like that. It's not fair what they're going to go through. I mean seriously, being strung along all their lives, just so two pompous jerks can have a pissing match?

He caught my staring and raised an eyebrow. I just shrugged and shifted my eyes back to my plate.

All this thinking was messing me up. The whole family or fandom thing? I felt like I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't.

If I stayed with the Winchesters, I would be abandoning my family, my whole life… and of course, there's the chance that I could die.

On the other hand, if I went home, I would feel like a total douchebag for leaving, when I could make a difference and help people. Yeah, I was sure I would feel horrible no matter what I chose.

But if I'm honest, I wanted to help the Winchesters for as long I could before the opportunity to return home arose. I would make the best of my situation; after all, last time I saw them, my family was in a better place than they've been in a long time.

My mom had been doing better, her rehab had finally worked and my younger siblings were old enough that they didn't need to depend on me anymore, even though I'll always miss them all, especially little Sarah.

Oh, I need to calm down, I wish I could-

My eyes widened, Oh!

"Hey, guys?" I asked them.

They looked up from their sandwiches and looked at me.

"Uh, this is a junkyard, so there's got to be a welding station," I said. "Could one of you show me where it is?"

"Yeah, sure, but why?" Dean asked.

"Why do you think?" I asked sarcastically. "If I'm asking where a welding station is, it's obvious that that's what I want to do."

"You weld?" Sam asked curiously.

I nodded, "Yes. Now, can you show me where it is?"

Dean nodded, and got up, motioning me to follow him.

I sighed and stared down at the little puddle of molten cast iron I was creating with my torch, how the two separate pieces of metal melded together to help create a piece of art. The heat radiated off the metal, making my face uncomfortably hot.

The seam between the bolts was now nonexistent. I smiled at my work and added another bolt to the array. It was turning out to be a beautiful sculpture, I couldn't help but think as the two new bolts melted into to the previous ones.

I heard the door open.

"What's that?" A voice asked.

I turned off the gas and turned around.

"I don't know, how about you use your eyes?" I quipped at Sam, who was standing there, looking curious. I set the welding torch back on its hook.

"Haha," he said dryly.

"You're lucky. You came at just the right time," I told him. "I was just about to dunk it in the bucket." I motioned to a dirty bucket that I had filled with water to cool metal. "After that, you can check it out for yourself."

I took a pair of pliers off the shelf and promptly dunked the creation into the water. I smiled at the satisfying hiss of steam rising from it. I flipped it around a couple times in the water to make sure it was cool enough to touch, before scooping it up with a hand.

I smiled and handed him my weld. He took it from me and held it up to his face. "Is this… a turtle?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "My little sister loves them." I sighed and stared down at the floor.

He obviously sensed my sadness. "What wa- is her name?"

I shot him a quick look and said, "Isabelle. Her name is Isabelle, but I got into a habit of calling her Sarah because she looks like Sarah Jane from Doctor Who."

Now it was his turn to sigh. "You miss her, don't you?" he smiled sadly.

"Of course, I miss her. I always miss her… I just wish I would've shown it better." I said, almost like an afterthought, "Look at us, two fools who ran from our problems."

"What do you mean?" he asked. He seemed curious about that statement.

I shrugged, "Something bad happened, and it messed me up. I ran away. I left my older siblings to take care of the younger ones…" I bit my lip, trying not to get choked up. "And I never came back. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna regret it until the day I die."

"I'm sorry," he told me, "About your family."

I huffed, "I should be saying the same thing to you."

We sat in silence for a while, because honestly I didn't have any words. None of them would make any difference. No, it took time with these things. I stared at my shoes as if they held the secret to the universe.

"I came in here because Dean thinks he found a case," Sam said eventually, breaking the silence. "He wants to know if you want to go."

"Wait, what? What do you mean Dean found a case?" I frowned, "You literally just got home! …Or whatever you call Bobby's."

He scoffed, "So? We gotta find dad. We shouldn't even be here. We should be out looking."

"I understand you want to find your dad, and you will, but do you really have to run yourself into the ground in the meantime?" I asked.

He simply looked at me stoically. "It's not just dad. That thing killed Jess. It needs to die."

My shoulders slumped. I knew there was no reasoning with him when he was like this. I just sighed. "I know…"

"Why exactly are you asking me to go?" I asked, "I can't exactly dig up graves."

"Don't worry; you'll be on research duty. We thought it'd be a good idea to bring you along since you know the future," he said.

I rolled my eyes. "Oh, is that all I'm good for now? Great… That makes me feel awesome," I said sarcastically.

"Are you going or not?" he asked impatiently.

"Of course, I'm going," I told him. "Where else would I go?"

He simply nodded and left.

Well then…

'That could've gone better,' I thought as I pulled off my leather apron and threw it in the corner, before wandering off to find my duffle bag and a first aid kit for the case.

This was gonna one long freaking case...

It turned out my bag was on the couch, and there was a first aid kit in the kitchen. "I need a holster," I commented to myself. I didn't feel like just sticking my gun in my belt or inner jacket pocket.

So yeah, it took us about an hour to get ready.

"You better get me some coffee," I told them as I got into the back.

Dean just scoffed, and said nothing; Sam was pointedly ignoring me. I rolled my eyes at his childishness as he got into the car.

"How long of a drive is it?" I asked.

Dean shrugged, "A couple days at most?"

I almost groaned at that. There was nothing I hated more than a long car ride… your butt goes numb, and your legs got all stiff. At least the impala's got comfy seats…

"So why exactly am I tagging along?" I asked.

"Because we need to keep an eye on you," was Dean's response.

I snorted at that. "What exactly are you expecting me to do?"

"Something stupid." This time, it was Sam that answered.

I laughed and watched as Dean started the car. "Can I drive?"

The answer was a loud, "NO!"

"Fine! Sheesh, I was just asking…"

I smiled and waved at the car that passed. They didn't wave back.

Dean shot me a weird look but said nothing.

Then another car passed, and I did the same thing. The blonde woman in the car waved back at me. I cheered.

"Seriously, you've been doing that for the last half hour. What the hell?!" he said, obviously annoyed.

"Haven't you ever heard of the game "Sweet and Sour?"' I asked.

"Don't think so," he told me.

"Well, how you play the game is you wave at the other cars. If they wave back, they're sweet, and if they don't, they're sour," I told him.

"Well stop it," he told me.

I shot him a smug smile, "How about no?"

Never the less, I stopped, and pulled out my phone. A reminder flashed on my screen, telling me to read the next part of the PDF. So, that's what I did.

"Hello! This is you,

I should probably tell you, the reason that Sam is ignoring you again and sulking is because you touched a nerve, about the whole "Running yourself into the ground" thing. BTW good job bringing the first aid kit, you're gonna need it… well… not you, but you know… Sam."

I nodded my head in understanding as I read.

"Anyway, if I recall, your ribs should be doing better. So, that's good at least; also, if you're looking for a holster stop by the pawn shop when you get back to Sioux falls, stop by there, and you'll find what you need…

I should also remind you to stay out of the action on this one. Don't change anything. The entire case is riddled with fixed points. I know you want to change things, but this is not the case to do that.

Good luck,

Future you.

P.s. I believe in you."

I frowned. Why would I want to go if the entire case was just a big fixed point? …Well, it's too late to turn back now I guess.

I slumped against lazily against the window with a sigh and put on the one pair of earphones that I had. I pushed shuffle.

"Hush child,

The darkness will rise from the deep,

And,

Carry you down to sleep…"

It felt like all was right in the world, but then he felt something wet hit his face.

Frowning in confusion, he opened his eyes, only to see Jessica pinned to the ceiling.

He gasped in horror, but she just stared at him with cold emotionless eyes.

"Why Sam?" She demanded.

But he couldn't say anything, he lay frozen in shock, terror, and regret. She gave him a devastated look.

"WHY SAM?!"

She promptly burst into flames. "WHY SAM!? WHY SAM?!"

"Sam, wake up," said Dean.

Sam woke up confused.

He sat up and looked around, before realizing he was sitting shotgun in the impala, which was parked in front of our destination.

"I take it I was having a nightmare?" he inquired.

Dean nodded, "Yeah, another one."

Sam shrugged, "Hey, at least, I got some sleep."

"You know, sooner or later we're gonna have to talk about this," he said, looking at his brother.

"Is there a Starbucks here?" I asked tiredly, yawning. I was pretty sure my hair was sticking up.

Dean chuckled, "Looks like someone ain't a morning person."

I flashed him an unamused look. "Mornings are evil," I replied in a grouchy voice.

Dean laughed. "We'll stop somewhere."

I nodded my head in confirmation.

I thought back to the previous few days. The previous case ended the same way it did in the show, and they got back to Bobby's exhausted. Frank also worked on my phone for a while. He encrypted my hard drive just like I had requested. The other thing he did was rather genius. I told him what I wanted, though… It's based on Irene Adler's phone from Sherlock.

There are little devices in my phone now that are meant to destroy the hard drive under certain circumstances. There are three circumstances when this happens. One is if you get the questions wrong five times in a row; two is if someone tries to dismantle the phone itself. Option number three is basically a self-destruct button. Like I said, even though he's a complete nutter, he's still a genius-

"Are we here?" Sam asked, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yup. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio."

Sam nodded and picked up the newspaper, studying it. "So what do you think really happened to this guy?"

"That's what we're gonna find out," Dean replied. "Let's go."

I frowned. "Coffee first?" I asked hopefully.

They just laughed at me as we all got out of the car.

'I'm not getting that coffee, am I?' I thought, extremely frustrated.

Some time later, we walked into the morgue. The office was fairly small and tidy, but it still had the smell of a hospital that I knew so well.

There were two desks. The bigger one was empty and had a nameplate that read "Dr. D. Feiklowicz." The other belonged to the morgue tech. Who was grumbling under his breath as he wrote?

What I could hear consisted of: "Damn paperwork… Doc… Married… Don't get paid enough for this."

Wait… I don't think I remember him complaining under his breath in the episode… I decided to shrug it off. They probably didn't include it since it had no relevance to the plot.

After a few seconds, he noticed our presence. "Hey."

"Hey," Dean greeted back.

I nodded towards the guy, still yawning, "Sup?"

"Can I help you?" he drawled.

"Yeah. We're the, uh..." Dean paused. "Med students."

He frowned, "Sorry?"

"Oh, Doctor-"He stumbled over the name-"Figlavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. He, uh, we're from Ohio State."

"He's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper," I commented.

"Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch."

Dean hesitated. "Oh well, he said, uh… oh, well, you know, it doesn't matter. You don't mind just showing us the body, do you?"

"Sorry, I can't," he told us. "Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want."

"An hour? Ooh. We gotta be heading back to Columbus by then." Dean shoots a look at Sam.

Sam got the hint and said, "Yeah."

"Uh, look, man, this paper's like half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out-"

The morgue tech. cuts him off, "Uh, look, man...no."

Dean laughed, mirthless, before turning to Sam and muttering, "I'm gonna hit him in his face I swear."

The morgue technician guy didn't seem to hear him.

Sam groans, and punches Dean in the shoulder, before pulling some twenty-dollar bills out of his wallet. He walks over and slaps five twenties on the guy's desk.

The guy smirked and picked up the money, "Follow me."

With that, he got up and left. Dean turned to Sam as Sam tried to follow.

"Dude! I earned that money!"

Sam just rolled his eyes. "You won it in a poker game."

"Yeah," Dean said as if it explained everything.

I rolled my eyes, too. "Cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it."

Dean shot me a look, "Shut up short stack!"

I stuck my tongue out at his as Sam followed after the morgue tech. But then we followed too.

…

"Now," Sam began, "the newspaper said his daughter found him. She said his eyes were bleeding."

He tore back the sheet from the dead man's face, "More than that. They practically liquefied."

I took a careful look at the eyes. I guess they could look liquefied if you didn't know what to look for… but I did, I could definitely tell they had been cut out.

"Any sign of a struggle?" Dean asked, going into work mode, "Maybe somebody did it to him?"

Did he see it too? Or was he just asking a routine question? 'Yeah,' I decided, 'totally routine.'

"Nope. Besides the daughter, he was all alone."

"What's the official cause of death?" Sam asked.

"Ah, Doc's not sure. He's thinking massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm?" he said thoughtfully, "Something burst up in there, that's for sure."

I gave a low whistle, "Doesn't look like any stroke I've ever seen."

He shrugged, "Me neither, but whatever happened, it's clear something burst up in there."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked.

"Severe cerebral bleeding," he reported. "There's more blood than brain in there."

"The eyes." He wondered, "What could cause something like that?"

The tech. shrugged. "Capillaries burst. Seen a lot of bloodshot eyes in stroke victims."

"Yeah?" Dean snarked, "You ever see exploding eyeballs?"

"That's a first for me, but hey, I'm not the doctor."

There was a moment of silence before Dean said, "Hey, think we could take a look at that police report? …You know for, uh… our paper."

He smirked mischievously at us. "I'm not really supposed to show you that."

Sam huffed and handed him some more twenties.

I laughed.

So, after we got all the information, we left the office.

"Might not be one of ours. Might just be some freak medical thing," Sam suggested.

Dean shook his head, "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?"

"Uh, almost never."

"Exactly."

"So how come you knew about that medical mumbo jumbo?" Dean asked, turning to me.

"Who wants to know?" I said.

He raised an eyebrow at me.

"Fine, I was an EMT for about six months after high school," I shrugged. "That, and I'm obsessed with medical dramas… but that's not important right now. What's important right now is that I noticed something when we were looking at the body."

"What?" Sam asked curiously.

"Something was off. His eyes didn't explode. His eyes were cut out, I could tell," I informed them, it technically was not a lie. "The area is too neat for it to have been an explosion."

"Well then, let's go meet the daughter then," he shrugged.

"Oh, she didn't do it," I told him.

"Then who did?" Dean asked, distrusting.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." I said, and paused ignoring the silent conversation no doubt going on between the two, "So, let's go then."

Oh, crap… did that count as changing things? I better lay off from now on, just to be safe.

The room was somber as we walked in. I noticed there was a picture of Steven on the desk. The other attendees wore all black, the men in suits, and the women in beautiful black dresses. I couldn't help feeling underdressed, what with my black t-shirt, and cargo pants…

"Feels like we're underdressed," Dean commented.

"No kidding," I said as we walked toward the back of the house.

Eventually, a guy pointed us in the direction of the two grieving sisters, who were talking to their friends.

"You must be Donna, right?" Dean asked.

Donna nodded, "Uh… yeah."

"Hi, uh—we're really sorry," Sam told her.

"Yeah," I nodded, thinking it'd be weird if I didn't say anything, "I'm sorry for your loss."

"Thank you."

"I'm Sam, this is Dean and Rebecca. We worked with your dad," Sam lied.

She looked us over. "You did?" She asked, confused.

"Yeah. This whole thing. I mean, a stroke?" He asked with a frown.

"I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now," one friend piped up. Charlie was it?

Donna shook her head at her friend before saying, "It's okay. I'm okay."

"Were there any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?" He asked, trying to get information.

Unaware, Donna sighed and shook her head. "No."

The younger sister turned around. "That's because it wasn't a stroke," She said guiltily.

The older sister frowned, "Lily, don't say that."

"What?" Sam asked.

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

"No, it happened because of me," the young girl stated sadly.

"Sweetie, it didn't," her sister said trying to comfort her.

Sam also frowned and bent down so he was at eye-level with the little girl. "Why would you say something like that?"

"Right be before he died, I said it," she admitted, devastated.

"Said what?" he asked.

She looked at the floor and said, "Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror... She took his eyes, it's what she does."

"That's not what happened," Donna tried to assure the girl. "It wasn't your fault."

"I think your sister's right, Lily," Dean added. "There's no way it could have been Bloody Mary. Your dad didn't say it, did he?"

She shook her head, "No, I don't think so."

"Then it couldn't have been your fault," Sam reassured her.

We talked with then for a few more moments, then made some excuse about food.

"You thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean asked, putting his "strictly business" face on.

Sam nodded, putting the piece of cake he had in his hand down on the table.

"So do you want me to come? Or…" I questioned. Honestly, the only reason I was here and not at a motel on research duty was that we hadn't gotten one yet.

"Eh whatever, you can come too," he shrugged.

I nodded and smiled. This was going to be interesting.

We quietly made our way upstairs, making sure no one heard us. Walking upstairs pained me but I ignored it. I stared at one of the mirrors as we passed it… I shivered.

Finally, we got to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Sam went first and pushed open the door. The sight was not exactly for the weak of heart. Dry blood still stained the floor, and for some reason, the mirror looked like it was laughing at me. Ugh, I've always hated this episode…

"The Bloody Mary legend..." Sam began apprehensively as he stared. "Did dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?"

Dean shook his head, "not that I know of."

He followed Sam into the bathroom just as Sam reached down to touch the dried blood almost pensively.

"I mean, everywhere else all over the country, kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know, nobody dies from it," he reasoned.

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

"The place where the legend began?" He wondered.

At that moment, I decided to walk in and survey the scene for myself. Most of the blood had been cleaned but the stains still remained. The second thing that I noticed was that the blood was not just on the floor, there was a stain in the shape of a handprint on the wall.

"But according to the legend, the person who says B-"he cut himself off when he saw that the medicine cabinet was now facing him. "The person who says you know what gets it. But here-"

"Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah," Dean agreed, following along.

"Right," Sam said.

"Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror, and the daughter's right. The way the legend goes, you know who scratches your eyes out."

"It's worth checking into," Sam said.

"Thoughts redhead?" Dean asked.

I grimaced at the name but shook my head. "Spoilers."

He frowned, "What the hell does that mean?"

I sighed, "It means I want to tell you, but I can't."

Sam spoke up. "And why not?"

I scratched my neck nervously, "…Because it's a fixed point."

"A what?" Dean asked.

"This case," I told them. "This case is a fixed point in time. You can change some things, but not others. Fixed points are what hold time streams together," I tried to explain, "And you can't change them."