AN: I apologize this is a little late, I've been sick and sleeping weird hours all weekend. I tried editing but to be honest the room won't stop spinning long enough for me to be sure that everything's right, so I also apologizes for any typos. I'll try to edit again when I'm no longer sick. I feel like I have more to say but I can't remember and I honestly just wanna get this up so, I'm just gonna say ENJOY!
Addendum
(n.)
A thing to be added; an addition.
Chapter Six
Bloody Mary
aka
I Turned All The Mirrors Around
Toledo, Ohio/Fort Wayne, Indiana: January 2018
"Sam, wake up," Elena says.
Like magic, her words pull him from his dream and he wakes to her hand on his shoulder.
He turns to look at her in the backseat. The driver seat is empty, Dean nowhere to be found.
"I take it I was having nightmare?" he asks, still bleary.
She nods grimly.
"Another one," she says.
"Well, at least I got some sleep." Sam attempts to look on the bright side. "I guess that whole running thing works, although you're kinda kicking my ass."
Elena laughs a little, but he can see the worry in her eyes.
"Don't uh, tell Dean," he requests.
Elena cocks her head to the side, empathy in her gaze.
"He's actually pretty good to talk to about it," she tells him. "I won't make you tell him or anything, but, he's always good when I have nightmares."
Sam gives her a look, wondering exactly what his brother does when Elena wakes up in their bed from a nightmare, but instead of insinuating all the things he wants to insinuate, he changes the subject.
"Are we here?"
She nods. "Toledo, Ohio."
"Where's Dean?" he asks.
"He went ahead, I lost rock-paper-scissors to wake you up," she explains.
"Huh, nice."
"C'mon, let's go, Dean's trying to sweet talk his way into the morgue to see what happened to our Mr. Shoemaker," Elena says, opening her door.
Sam follows her out of the car and up the front steps. He tries his best to shake off his nightmare. It's not like it was any different from the last dozen or so he's had. It's always the same. He feels like he's losing his mind. He needs to focus on the case.
"Look man, this paper's like half our grade so if you don't mind helping us out."
They can hear Dean from the hallway.
"Look man, no," they hear someone say.
They exchange a look, clearly Dean's sweet talking isn't going as well as he'd planned.
Elena rolled her eyes, reaching up to let loose her hair from its high ponytail. She shakes it out, throws a little more swivel in her hips than usual and strolls through the doors like it's fashion week.
Sam trails behind her, ducking his head to hide his grin. He's not used to her, not yet, but he's not shell-shocked now when she turns it on and brings the world to its knees. It's kind of fun, really, watching her.
"Hey, sorry we're late, did you already see it?" Elena asks, fluttering her eyelashes at Dean, who quickly masks his smirk behind a disappointed look.
"Uh no, this gentleman doesn't seem too interested in helping us with our paper," Dean says, gesturing to the unsuspecting assistant.
Elena pouts, tosses her hair as she turns to look at the assistant.
The assistant, rendered thunderstruck the moment Elena waltzed through the doors, stares dumbly back at her.
"What seems to be the problem? When I called the coroner he was thrilled to help out some curious, young med students," Elena says, cocking her head to the side, she finishes him off with a bite to the corner of her perfect mouth.
"Um," he says.
She blinks, waiting.
"Yeah, sure," he says, still not completely verbal.
Elena grants him a radiant grin.
"You are so totally my hero," she pauses, touches Sam and Dean on the smalls of their backs. "You're a hero to all of us."
Sam coughs to cover his laugh, but Dean nods along solemnly.
The coroner's assistant smiles stupidly at her and then leads them over to the body. His back momentarily turned to them, Dean wraps an arm around Elena's waist and squeezes.
Elena winks in response as he moves away from her towards the prone body. Elena strategically places herself next to the coroner's assistant, as a reward for his helpful behavior.
Elena and Sam exchange a quick glance, and she understands that it will work best if she takes the lead.
"The uh, newspaper said his daughter found him, she said his eyes were bleeding," Elena says, widening her eyes just a bit, like she's shocked, but biting the corner of her mouth again, to imply a hidden excitement.
It's fascinating to watch her work, every movement and word is calculated, but everyone simply takes it at face value because she's beautiful and magnetic and they want it to be real.
"More than that," the assistant is saying as he pulls back the sheet covering the body, "they practically liquified."
Elena leans into him, looking rapt.
"Do you think someone did it to him?" she asks.
He leans into Elena, lowering his voice.
"Nope, besides the daughter he was all alone."
Sam watches, waiting for some indication that Elena's uncomfortable, a flinch, a twitch, anything that says she doesn't want him in her personal space. Elena's act is without flaw. There's nothing on the surface except what this man wants to see.
"What's the official cause of death?"
Elena turns her head, giving him her magnificent profile while she flicks her hair over her shoulder, the light hitting it just right to bring out the blazing red tones in it.
"Uh, the doc's not sure," he replies, distracted.
Elena cocks her head to the side.
He clears his throat looks down at the body, looking for any reprieve in the face of this beautiful girl.
"He's thinking, uh, massive stroke, maybe an aneurysm," he's speaking to the corpse now. "Something burst up in there, that's for sure."
Elena ducks her head down, forcing him to look back up at her.
"What do you mean?"
Sam finally manages to tear his eyes away from Elena's charade to look at his brother. He always tries to remember to look at Dean when other men are looking at Elena. Usually, he gives it away so easily. He glares, moves into her personal space, typical guy stuff.
When she's like this, putting on a show to get them what they need, Dean is a willing participant. It's bizarre, how quickly he can turn it on and off given the context.
"Intense cerebral bleeding. This guy had more blood in his skull than anyone I've ever seen."
Elena nods, looking completely invested in the assistant's obvious enthusiasm for the gore.
"And the eyes? What would cause something like that?"
He shrugs, not particularly mystified.
"Capillaries can burst," he suggests. "See a lot of bloodshot eyes with stroke victims."
Elena raises a skeptical eyebrow.
"What about exploding eyeballs?" she asks, a hint of teasing in her tone, despite the gross subject matter.
She never lets on that she might be uncomfortable with an eyeless corpse sprawled out under her nose and a creepy coroner's assistant looming over her.
"That's a first for me," he admits. "But, hey, I'm not the doctor."
"No you aren't," Elena agrees, somehow making that sound flirty.
"Hey you think we could look at that police report?" Dean asks, speaking for the first time since explaining his failed attempt to see the body to Elena.
"I'm not really supposed to show you that."
The coroner's assistant is resistant, simply because Elena isn't talking, but Elena leans in, so close that he must know the flowery bite of her perfume by now.
"That's a great idea, that would be such a good angle for our paper." She smiles at him, letting her mouth slide up more on one side than the other, charmingly lopsided and coy.
She has him.
When he's walking them to the door, he casually mentions that it's almost his lunch break.
Elena raises an eyebrow, pretending not to understand. Before her body even starts to lean, Dean is there, supporting her weight and curling an arm around her shoulders.
"Thanks for your help," he tells him coolly, combing his fingers through her hair. He reaches up with his free hand to smooth a hand along her jaw. "You really saved our asses, it's gonna be a hell of a paper, you really are our hero."
Sam looks down at his feet, trying to hide his smirk. Elena gives the deflated assistant her fallen angel smile.
"Totally, thanks so much," she says, leaning into Dean just a fraction more, like it's a thoughtless action.
"Have a good lunch break." There's enough innocence in Elena's tone for a successful virgin sacrifice.
They leave the room easily entwined, their gait perfectly adjusted, steps in perfect sync. Sam trails behind them, taking one last look at the coroner's assistant. He looks like he might be realizing he just got played, but he certainly doesn't look angry.
That's the power of Elena Gilbert.
"Might not be one of ours, might just be some freak medical thing," Sam says.
They're walking down the staircase, Dean isn't really paying attention to Sam, he's preoccupied with swinging Elena's arm, propelling her forward and then pulling her back. She laughs at him and Dean grins back at her.
"How many times in Dad's long and varied career has it actually been a freak medical thing, and not an awful sign of a supernatural death?"
He looks back at Sam, finally remembering to answer him, finally remembering he's there.
"Uh, almost never?"
"Exactly," Dean says.
He picks Elena up with one arm, tucking her under his arm like luggage until she's cackling. He carries her down the next flight of stairs.
Sam can't hide his grin at their antics. No matter what they mean, it's fun to watch.
"All right, let's go talk to the daughter," Sam says, sighing a little.
They reach the front door so Dean puts Elena down. She stumbles a little, her equilibrium off.
Dean grins at, grabbing for her hand again.
"You, are brilliant, Gilbert," he says. "What the hell did I ever do without you?"
Sam answers. "Well, if Elena hadn't fried his brain, I would've just bribed him with your poker winnings."
Dean gives him a mock glare.
"This is why you're my favorite," he tells Elena seriously.
She laughs again.
"Yeah, I know, I'm amazing,"
"You kind of are," Sam says, just as serious as Dean had been.
It's always just a little bit harder, to get their story straight when Elena's involved. She makes so much of it easier, it's undeniable true, but then people take a look at her and there has to be some kind of explanation for all of that. Dean says that she's memorable. Sam personally thinks that's the understatement of the century. Elena sears into people's brains like lightning.
Walking through the Shoemakers' house, Sam can feel the eyes following them, and it's not about their casual clothes in a house full of mourners. It's Elena. Even with her hair tamed back into her customary ponytail, everything about her is magnetic.
In the backyard, there's a small group of teenage girls. Someone points out the short-haired brunette as Mr. Shoemaker's daughter.
"You must be Donna, right?" Dean asks.
"Yeah," she says, somewhat shortly.
"We're so sorry for your loss," Elena says.
Sam remembers then that Elena was Donna's age when she lost her parents.
She's tucked herself between both brothers. Something she does frequently now, relying on their bulk to hide her from prying eyes.
"Thank you," Donna says, still looking at them like she's not entirely sure what they're doing there. She sounds sincere, at least.
"I'm Sam," he starts, taking over for Elena without thought, for once. "This is Dean, we worked with your dad."
"You did?" Donna asks, exchanging skeptical looks with one of her friends.
"Yeah, we did," Dean jumps in, "And this is Elena, my girlfriend."
Elena smiles at him, exactly like a girlfriend would.
He smiles back at her.
"This whole thing," he continues, turning back to Donna, shaking his head, "I mean, a stroke?"
"I don't think she really wants to talk about this right now," her friend says, cutting off their line of questioning.
"It's okay, I'm okay," Donna insists.
Elena is close enough that Sam feel what no one can see, she flinches at Donna's words.
Dean is close enough to feel it too, and with the slightest movement, he reaches over and takes her hand.
"Were there ever any symptoms? Dizziness? Migraines?" Dean asks, despite a slight hesitance in his tone.
Donna thinks for a moment, but then shakes her head. "No."
The small brunette next to her turns around finally, agonized.
"That's because it wasn't a stroke," she says insistently, clearly distressed.
"Lily, don't say that," Donna responds.
"What?" Sam asks.
"I'm sorry, she's just upset," Donna says, explaining away her sister's fantastical idea before she even gets a chance to voice it.
"No, it happened because of me."
Sam can feel Elena tense again. Out of the corner of his eye he sees her squeeze Dean's hand, hard.
"Sweetie, it didn't," Donna says, trying to soothe her sister.
Elena lets go of Dean's hand, slides between the brothers to kneel down next to her.
"Lily, why would you say something like that?" she asks, her voice lullaby soft.
"Right before he died, I said it."
"You said what?"
"'Bloody Mary,' three times in the bathroom mirror," Lily explains tearfully.
Donna and her friend both hold seem to physically back their exasperation.
"She took his eyes, that's what she does."
Donna interrupts.
"That's not why Dad died. This isn't your fault." She tries to convince Lily.
"I think your sister's right, Lily," Dean says. "There's no way it could've been Bloody Mary. I mean, your dad didn't say it, did he?"
It's quintessential Dean, getting information while still comforting a small scared child. It might not be exactly what someone expects an adult to say to kid, but it certainly fit her line of thinking better than her sister's reassurances.
"No, I don't think so."
Elena smiles at her, and Lily smiles back.
Dean walks over to them, holding out a hand to Elena to help her up.
"The Bloody Mary Legend, Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?" Sam asks.
They're staring into the bathroom where Mr. Shoemaker died.
Dean shakes his head. "Not that I know of." He turns on the light and walks into the room.
"I mean, everywhere else, all over the country kids will play Bloody Mary, and as far as we know nobody dies from it." Sam approaches Dean.
"Maybe everywhere else it's just a story."
Sam and Dean both turn back to look at Elena, still in the doorway.
"But here it's actually happening," Dean continues for her.
"The place where the legend began," Sam says, adding to their train of thought.
Dean idly opens the mirrored cabinet.
"But according to the legend, the person who says..." Sam trails off, realizing the mirror is directly in his face. He closes it and continues, "The person who says you-know-what gets it. But here—"
"Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah," Dean finishes.
"Right."
Dean shakes his head.
"Never heard of anything like that before," he admits. "Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror. And the daughter's right, I mean, the way the legend goes," he glances at the mirror, steals Sam's turn a phrase, "you-know-who scratches your eyes out."
Sam concedes. "It's worth checking into."
"Excuse me, do you know where the bathroom is?" Elena says suddenly from the doorway.
She glances in, giving them a significant look, canting her head away from whoever she's seen in the hallway. She strides towards them.
"I'm sorry, I just, don't really want to use that one."
"Uh, it's okay, I guess I get that," a girl's voice replies, somewhat shyly. "The guest bathroom is downstairs."
Elena laughs weakly. "Of course it is. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have wandered up here, it's just, I needed to get away. It was only once I got here that I realized where this must be."
"You don't like crowds?"
It sounds like Donna's friend who'd told them off for asking her questions.
"Um, not exactly." Elena pauses. "Funerals, I get, I mean, I guess I've been to too many, or I guess, I've hosted too many. They always have this, humming silence, like everyone is trying not to disturb the dead, or the grieving. I dream about it sometimes."
"Oh."
There's a painful pause.
"I'm sorry."
"It is what it is," Elena says.
Their voices are getting further away, so Dean and Sam sneak out into the hallway. Elena and Donna's friend are around the corner, and there's no other way back down except to follow them. They creep as silently as they can, just out of sight.
"So did your boyfriend really work with Donna's dad?"
There's a pause, like an evaluation.
"Why do you think he didn't?"
The girl stutters for a second, not expecting Elena's question, but eventually remembers the source of her suspicion.
"He was a day trader, he worked alone."
Elena doesn't answer right away. They've both stop walking.
If Sam had to guess, he's betting they're at the top of the stairs now.
"Mr. Shoemaker didn't die of a stroke, he didn't have any of the normal symptoms," she says, surprising everyone.
Sam looks back at Dean, widening is eyes in alarm. Dean shrugs. It's in Elena's hands now, if she thinks it's best to give Donna's friend a clue, then it is whether they like it or not.
"What happened to him then?" the girl is asking.
"We don't know yet," Elena says honestly.
They start to descend the stairs and Sam stops being able to hear what they're saying.
They wait a few minutes before they go down and join the rest of the mourners, mingling until Elena approaches them again.
"Let's get out of here," she says quietly.
She's right, Sam can hear the humming silence she was talking about earlier. It surrounds them, and he wonders what it feels like to her. He doesn't like it, but it's still unfamiliar to him. Whatever he's lost, it hasn't come at this cost, never-ending funerals.
Dean takes Elena's hand, rubbing her palm with his thumb.
As they leave, Sam sees Donna's friend watching them go, a searching expression on her face.
In the car Elena fills them in on what they missed of her conversation with Donna's friend, Charlie.
"I just told her she could call us if she or any of her friends noticed anything out of the ordinary." She shrugs. "Then I gave her your number."
Sam looks up, raises an eyebrow.
"Why not yours?" he asks, not upset that she'd used his, rather curious as to why she didn't use her own.
Elena and Dean exchange glances.
"Dad gets antsy about Elena leaving any trails," Dean says, answering for her.
Sam frowns, taking it in.
"Okay," he says. In the end, he can't exactly say it's not logical, Elena's being kept safe from something, it's probably good to make sure she isn't easy to track.
After a pause, Sam clears his throat.
"So should I be offended that you always pretend Dean is your boyfriend and not me?" he asks as casually as he can.
They both turn to look at him exactly at the same time, giving him the same exact look.
It's a completely calculated question. He has no problem with Dean always being Elena's pretend boyfriend over him. His problem is the pretend part, and he's going to beat this topic into the ground until something changes or he gets a definitive answer that satisfies him and explains away all the weird tension between them.
Sam shrugs.
"What? I'm starting to feel a little undesirable here, Elena," he says, trying to keep a straight face. "If Dean of all people is better boyfriend material, what exactly does that say about me?"
She gives him an unimpressed look.
"When's my birthday?" she asks, shocking him.
"Um," he says.
"June 22nd," Dean replies, eyes on the road.
Elena points at Dean to indicate his correct answer.
"Uh," Sam says.
"Where does my brother go to college?" she asks.
"Um…"
"Pratt Institute in Brooklyn. He's an amazing artist," Dean replies.
"Yes, yes he is," Elena says in agreement.
"That's cool," Sam says, completely unaware of the fact that her brother was even that far north. For some reason he'd been imagining him in North Carolina.
"What was my mom's name?" Elena asks, still making her point.
Sam coughs.
"Miranda," Dean says, pauses, frowns, then adds, "I mean, I guess you could mean Isobel, but I'm pretty sure you meant Miranda."
Elena nods.
"Yes Dean, I did mean Miranda, but the fact you know there was even a possibility of the answer being Isobel proves my point."
She looks at Sam.
"You don't know anything about me, so maybe you are boyfriend material, but us fake dating would not be believable at all, not even to strangers."
Dean throws in his expertise.
"It kinda helps to know even basic shit about the person your pretending to date, even for strangers."
Sam, however, is still stuck on the Miranda/Isobel situation.
"Miranda? Isobel?" he asks.
Elena sighs.
"Uh, yeah, I was adopted, my adoptive mom was Miranda, my biological mother was Isobel," she explains, stuttering a little over using the word mother to describe Isobel, even in clinical terms.
"My adoptive dad, Grayson, was actually my biological father's older brother, so he was my paternal uncle," she adds as an afterthought.
Suddenly Sam realizes his glaring sin.
"Right, Dean told me your parents died in a car accident when you were 16 but you had to have been at least 17 when you met Dad and Dean at your father's funeral," Sam says, disbelieving that he somehow hadn't realized the seemingly incorrect information.
Elena nods.
His stomach drops as the information sinks in.
Elena's lost more than one set of parents.
He realizes something about Elena's wording when talking about her mothers.
"Um, when did Isobel die?" Sam asks. "You referred to her in the past tense too."
Elena sighs.
"a couple of days before John," she replies.
"God," Sam says. "I am so sorry."
In such a short period of time, Elena had experienced a more profound loss than Sam can even imagine. It isn't like he's a stranger to grief, but she's in a league he hasn't yet approached. No wonder she doesn't like funerals.
Elena shrugs.
"Yeah."
Sam clears his throat.
"I'm also sorry that I've been so wrapped in myself that I don't actually know anything about you beyond your hunting abilities and your terrible sleeping habits."
Elena looks at him like he's insane for a second.
"Sam, we've known each other for a few weeks, I think it's okay if you don't have my whole tragic backstory down cold." She smiles at him. "You've been through a lot, I don't take it personally."
Sam smiles back at her hesitantly, still feeling like he's done some horrible wrong to her.
"Uh, right."
They lapse into silence.
Dean, having been quiet through all of Elena's exposition, finally breaks the ice.
"Personally, Sammy, I think you're far too nice to even pretend to be Elena's boyfriend, she's too much for you to handle."
"All right, say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town, there's gotta be some sort of proof. A local woman who died nasty," Dean says as they walk into the library.
"Yeah, but a legend this widespread, it's hard." Sam shakes his head.
"He's right, there's like fifty versions of who she actually is. One story says she's a witch, another says she's a mutilated bride, there's a lot more," Elena says, continuing Sam's thought process.
Sam nods. "Exactly, where do we even begin?"
Dean sighs.
"I dunno Sam, what do you think?"
"Every version has a few things in common," Elena reminds them, and Sam nods.
"It's always a woman named Mary, and she always dies right in front of a mirror," Sam says. "So we've got to search local newspapers, public records, as far back as they go, see if we can a Mary who fits the bill."
Dean frowns.
"Well that sounds annoying."
"Nah, it won't be so bad," Sam insists.
Elena laughs, points over at the computers covered in out-of-order signs.
"I take that back," Sam says. "This will be very annoying."
Elena shrugs.
"We don't have any other choice," she reminds them. "Why don't you guys start and I'll go get us all coffee and snacks," she suggests.
Sam raises an eyebrow at her.
"How do we know you're not just trying to get out of dong the hard work?"
Elena crosses her arms and looks up at him.
"Sam, if you think you can get coffee and snacks in here without a librarian beating you to death with an encyclopedia, be my guest."
Sam gulps.
"Yeah, you should do it."
Dean laughs.
Elena heads for the door.
"Get cookies," Dean calls after her.
"Why'd you let me fall asleep?" Sam asks. He's just woken up from another nightmare back in their motel room.
"'Cause I'm an awesome brother," Dean replies without skipping a beat, looking up from his book. "So what'd you dream about?"
"Lollipops and candy canes," Sam says softly.
"Yeah, sure." Dean scoffs.
"Where's Elena?" Sam asks.
"Coffee run," Dean replies.
"You lose rock-paper-scissors again?"
Dean always wants to do the coffee run, anything to get out of the mind-numbing turn of pages.
"Nah, we switched things up at about three, this time she kicked my ass at a thumb war."
Sam laughs.
"You find anything?"
"Oh, besides a whole new level of frustration? No." Dean tosses his book on the pile. "I've looked at everything."
Sam sits up.
"A few local women, a Laura and a Katherine, committed suicide in front of a mirror, and a giant mirror fell on a guy named Dave, but no Mary."
Sam collapses back into bed.
"Maybe we just haven't found it yet," he says, trying to be optimistic.
"I've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, you know, eyeballs bleeding, that sorta thing, there's nothing. Whatever's happening here, maybe it just ain't Mary," Dean concludes.
Elena comes in then with coffee and bags of bagels and pastries.
"Morning Sam, hi Dean."
"I don't know if I've ever been happier to see you," Dean says, making grabby hands at the pastry bag.
"Morning Elena," Sam says, watching in bemusement as Dean inhales a cheese Danish.
Just then, Sam's phone rings.
"Hello?"
After Charlie's distressed call, Dean's in the bathroom before they leave to meet her at the park, so Sam takes the opportunity to speak to Elena privately.
"Did you run this morning?" he asks.
She nods. "Yeah, a little after five, I was getting fidgety."
He clears his throat.
"Uh, do you think, I mean…" he trails off.
"What is it, Sam?"
He sighs. "Could you, maybe wake me up, next time? I'd much rather go for a run with you."
She raises an eyebrow at him.
"Sam, you need to sleep."
He shakes his head. "I'm not saying I don't. It's just, it's better, after a run," he admits, feeling a little uncomfortable. He still has nightmares, but usually he manages to get some restful sleep after a good run.
"Oh," she says. She smiles. "Yeah, me too. I'll definitely wake you up next time."
"…And they found her on the bathroom floor."
Charlie is crying in Elena's arms, Dean sitting on the back of the bench behind them, Sam standing in front of them.
"And her – her eyes…" Charlie looks up at Dean over Elena's shoulder. "They were gone."
Elena rubs Charlie's back comfortingly.
"I'm sorry," Sam says.
"And she said it, I heard her say it." She pulls back out of Elena's arms.
Elena hands her a tissue from her purse.
"But it couldn't be because of that." She looks between all three of them pleadingly. "I'm insane, right?"
The three of them exchange grim looks.
"No, you're not insane," Dean tells her firmly.
"Oh God, that makes me feel so much worse."
She almost collapses back into Elena's arms.
Elena can do nothing but wrap her arms back around her. She shoots Sam a look over Charlie's shoulder, prompting him to speak.
He sighs, but does what Elena's asking him to do.
"Look, we think something's happening here. Something that can't be explained."
He looks at Dean to continue.
"And we're gonna stop it, but we could use your help."
Charlie stops crying, moves with tentative purpose out of Elena's arms.
Elena hands her the entire travel pack of tissues from her purse.
It doesn't take Charlie very long to convince Jill's mom to let her into her room. She doesn't waste any time crossing the room to open her window and let the three of them in.
"What did you tell Jill's mom?" Sam asks. He puts his bag down on Jill's bed and opens it.
"I just said I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures and things."
Elena smiles approvingly at her.
"Nice."
Charlie smiles back, weakly, but sincerely.
"I hate lying to her," she admits after a breath.
"Trust us, it's for the greater good," Dean says, reassuring her. "Hit the lights, please."
Sam pulls out the video camera, turns it on.
Charlie complies.
"What are you looking for?" she asks.
"We'll let you know as soon as we find it," Dean answers.
"Hey, night vision," Sam says, holding the camera out to Dean. He reaches over and turns it on for him. "Thanks. Perfect."
The camera is pointed at Dean, so he turns to the side, looking back at the camera.
"Do I look like Paris Hilton?" he asks cheekily.
Elena snorts.
"God your jokes are old, Winchester."
Charlie laughs.
Sam ignores both of them, heading over to go over the mirror in Jill's closet.
"So I don't get it," Sam starts as he works. "So first victim, didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?"
"Beats me," Dean admits.
Elena clears her throat.
"Maybe we don't use the V-word in front of Charlie?" Elena suggests, reminding them that their new friend had just lost her friend in an incredibly traumatic way.
Sam and Dean exchange glances.
"Sorry Charlie," they chorus.
Charlie shifts uncomfortably. "It's okay," she murmurs, but she shoots Elena a grateful look.
"I want to know why Jill said it in the first place?" Dean asks, going back to the original topic. He looks over at Charlie.
"It was just a joke," she says, somewhat defensively.
"Yeah well, somebody's gonna say it again, it's just a matter of time."
"Hey," Sam calls from the bathroom.
They all turn to look at him.
"There's a blacklight in the trunk, right?" he asks.
Dean turns to look at Elena.
She rolls her eyes.
"Screw you," she says. She's already opening the curtains and then the window to climb back through.
"You're a star, Gilbert," Dean calls after her.
Sam takes the bathroom mirror off the wall and lays it down glass first onto the bed.
Elena crawls back in.
She tosses the blacklight to Sam who rips off the brown paper covering the back of the mirror.
The blacklight reveals a handprint and a name.
"Gary Bryman?"
Sam looks at Charlie.
"You know who that is?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "No."
"So, Gary Bryman was an eight-year-old boy," Sam starts.
Dean, Elena, and Charlie are waiting for him in the same park they met in earlier. Dean and Charlie are sitting on a bench, Elena's sprawled on the ground in front of them, seemingly uncaring of the fact that she has grass in her hair.
Sam gives her an amused look. He takes the last spot on the bench next to Charlie.
"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 says.
They all look at her.
Elena sits up, crossing her legs. "What is it, Charlie?" she asks.
"Jill drove that car," she tells them.
"We need to get back to your friend Donna's house," Dean says.
On their way to the Impala, Dean fusses with Elena's hair. He's walking behind her, occasionally purposefully stepping on her heels while he picks bits of grass out of her hair.
"Stop it," she whines. "It's fine, I don't care if I have grass in my hair, Dean."
Dean ignores her and keeps pulling bits out.
"Yeah, I mean, it'll probably just swallow it whole and we'll never see it again," Sam says.
Elena crosses her eyes at him.
"You do have a lot of hair," Charlie says.
"Yeah, maybe you'll never see it again, Sam, but I'm gonna wake up in a bed full of it," Dean grumbles.
Charlie's eyes widen.
"Oh you two really are together, I thought that was just part of your act."
Elena laughs, shaking her head and causing Dean to pull her hair.
She smacks his hand away, but he goes right back to it, relentless.
"No, we're not," Elena says simply.
Charlie looks at Sam questioningly.
"Don't ask," he tells her in undertone.
He lives with them, he's the only one who needs to be driven insane by whatever they are, or aren't.
"You're not gonna get in my car and fill it with grass, Elena," Dean is saying.
Elena stops short then, making Dean run into her and almost toppling them both over.
Once they're upright and balanced again she shoves him off and shakes out her hair, whipping Dean in the face in the process.
Sam doesn't doubt that it's on purpose.
She gathers all of it up, twisting it into a bun.
"Happy?" she asks.
"It'll do," Dean replies, blinking and pretending she hadn't gotten him right in the eye with her hair trick.
Sam shakes his head at their antics.
They make quick work of the mirror in the Shoemaker's bathroom.
"Linda Shoemaker," Sam reads aloud.
The three of them exchange a look.
"Why are you asking me all this?" Donna asks suspiciously.
"Look, we're sorry, but it's important," Sam says.
Donna gives him a distrustful look, but answers anyway.
"Yeah, Linda's my mom, okay? And she overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident, and that's it."
She glares at them.
"I think you should leave," she says.
"It's hard to lose a parent when you're so young," Elena says suddenly. "Especially when it isn't the first time, and strangers are asking you questions that you don't know the answers to. It's even harder when you have a younger sibling to take care of. Believe me, I know firsthand."
Donna stares at her in open-mouth shock. Her lower lip trembles a little.
"I'm sorry for your loss, and the inquisition, we'll leave now."
With that the boys follow her out of the house, and Donna is left staring after them.
"Oh my God, do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?" Charlie asks them, horrified.
She's walking with them to the Impala, so they can talk without Donna overhearing.
"Maybe," Sam says honestly.
She considers leaving too, since Donna is so upset, but she also doesn't want to leave her alone, and it seems like Elena's words effected Donna in some way.
"I think I should stick around," she tells them.
Dean nods.
"All right, well just, whatever you do, don't—"
She cuts him off.
"Believe me, I won't say it," she says with conviction.
"Call us if you need anything," Elena says.
Charlie nods.
"Wait, wait, wait, you're doing a nationwide search?" Sam asks.
They're back in the motel room, trying to piece it all together.
"Yep," Dean says, still hunched over the laptop. "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."
Elena hums in agreement. She's sprawled on their bed, nested in the blankets comfortably.
"But if she's haunting the town, she should've died in the town," Sam says, pointing out the obvious.
"I'm telling you, there's nothing local. So unless you've got a better idea."
"The way Mary's choosing her victims, it seems like there's a pattern."
"I know, I was thinking the same thing," Dean agrees.
"With Mr. Shoemaker and Jill's hit and run –"
"They both had secrets where somebody died," Dean finishes for him.
"Right. There's a lot of 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," Dean says. "Yeah, so maybe if you've got a secret, I mean like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it and punishes you for it," he theorizes.
"Whether you're the one who summoned her or not," Sam finishes grimly.
"Take a look at this," Dean says.
Sam leans in, focused on the case but aware at the back of his mind that Elena hasn't said anything since they started talking about mirrors.
Dean hands Sam the printed crime scene photo, a handprint in blood on the mirror, exactly like the ones they'd found on the backs of Mr. Shoemaker and Jill's mirrors.
"That looks like the same handprint," Sam says.
"Her name was Mary Worthington," Dean tells him. "An unsolved murder in Fort Wayne, Indiana."
Sam's about to jump into action to go, but Dean's preoccupied.
"Where'd you go, 'Lena?" he asks.
Elena's sitting up now, lost in thought.
She hums before she speaks, "I'm not sure," brushing it off.
Dean's mouth twitches and that's how Sam knows she's lying.
"So I guess we're going to Indiana," Elena says with measured calm.
It's an implicit warning not to call her out on her lie.
Sam's surprised when Dean just nods and says, "Yeah, I guess we are."
Then again, Dean knows best when it comes to Elena. If he isn't going to ask, neither will Sam.
"I was on the job for thirty-five years, detective for most of that. Now everybody packs it in with a few loose ends, but the Mary Worthington murder, that one still gets me," the retired police detective admits.
"What exactly happened?" Dean asks.
"You said you're reporters?" he asks in return.
"We know Mary was 19, lived by herself," Sam says, cutting in smoothly.
"We know she won a few local beauty pageants," Elena says, fiddling with her camera. She'd been the one to point out that three reporters seemed a bit much. "Dreamt of getting out of Indiana, being an actress."
She's the only one sitting, as usual their new friend had taken an immediate liking to her. She has a cup of coffee and a donut in front of her.
She glances over at Sam, who takes that as his cue to continue.
"And we know the night of March 29th someone broke into her apartment and murdered her. Cut out her eyes with a knife."
The former detective nods. "That's right."
Dean takes over.
"See, sir, when we ask you what happened, we want to know what you think happened."
He nods at the boys to take a seat with Elena, then leaves the room to go get something.
Dean takes this opportunity to bogart Elena's donut, with permission of course.
Without a word, Elena hands her coffee over to Sam.
He takes it gratefully, notices that she's doctored it exactly the way he likes it.
"Technically, I'm not supposed to have a copy of this," the retired detective admits as he reenters the room with a box of evidence.
He sorts through until he finds what he's looking for, the same picture Dean had shown Sam back in their motel room in Toledo.
He turns it to point out the writing on the mirror.
"Now, see that there, 't-r-e'?"
Dean nods. "Yeah?"
"I think Mary was trying to spell out the name of her killer."
"Do you know who it was?" Elena asks.
He shakes his head.
"Not for sure, but there was a local man, a surgeon, Trevor Sampson." He tosses a picture down on the table for them. "And I think he cut her up good."
Sam interjects.
"Now why would he do something like that?"
His answer is immediate.
"Her diary mentioned a man that she was seeing. She called him by his initial, 'T'. Well, her last entry, she was gonna tell T's wife about their affair."
Dean interrupts.
"Yeah but how do you know that it was this guy Sampson who killed her?"
"It's hard to say…" he admits, trailing off for a moment, then coming back sharply, "But the way her eyes were cut out, it was almost professional."
Elena wrinkles her nose a little.
"But you could never prove it?" Dean asks, guessing correctly.
"No. No prints, no witnesses. He was meticulous."
Sam and Dean exchange a glance.
"Is he still alive?" Dean asks, trying to be casual about it.
"Nope." He sits down across from them. "If you ask me, Mary spent her last living moments trying to expose this guy's secret, but she never could."
A pause, then Sam asks, "Where's she buried?"
He shakes his head. "She wasn't, she was cremated."
"What about the mirror?" Elena asks.
Dean nods, following along with her train of thought.
He points at the picture. "It's not in some evidence lockup somewhere, is it?"
He thinks for a moment. "Uh, no. It was returned to Mary's family a long time ago."
He leans back in his chair.
"Do you have the names of her family by any chance?" Sam asks.
"Oh, really? That's too bad, Mr. Worthington," Sam looks back and shakes his head at Elena, "I would have paid a lot for that mirror." Pause. "Okay, well maybe next time." Pause. "All right, thanks."
Sam hangs up.
"So?" Dean says, prompting him.
"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." Sam looks back at Elena again. "A store in Toledo."
"So wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?" Dean hypothesizes.
"Her spirit's definitely tied up with it somehow," Sam agrees.
"There's an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits," Elena says from the back. She sounds almost absentminded, distant.
Sam turns back.
"My friend's grandmother made us cover all the mirrors in our house after the accident," Elena says, responding to his unanswered question.
"Superstitious old southern lady, 'cause that's not cliché or anything," Dean says jokingly.
Elena doesn't laugh.
"Sure, that's one way to put it," she says mildly. "Or maybe it was because she was a witch."
Silence fills the car.
Dean coughs.
"Okay, yeah, um, yeah, that's a completely relevant point," Sam says, forging on.
In the back of his mind he's digesting the fact that Elena grew up around a lineage of witchcraft.
"Mary dies in front of a mirror and it draws in her spirit," Dean says, continuing on with the discussion.
Sam wonders if Dean knew about Elena's witch connection before.
"Yeah, but how can she move through like a hundred different mirrors?" Sam asks.
"I don't know," Dean admits. "But if the mirror is the source, I say we find it and we smash it."
"Yeah, I don't know, maybe," Sam says noncommittally.
There's a pause.
"Huh," Elena says.
"What?" Dean asks.
"Nothing, just, I wonder if your bad luck is worse for smashing a cursed mirror?" Elena asks.
Sam starts to answer, then pauses, stumped.
"It should be good luck," Dean says. "Since it's bad and you got rid of it, right?"
Elena shakes her head.
"Yeah, but who's doling out the luck here? Because if the evil cursed mirror is, I don't think it's gonna like being smashed."
Dean frowns.
"Why do you do this to me, Elena?" he asks.
Elena shrugs.
"I have questions, I'm supposed to ask you, that's what you always say," she reminds him.
"Your questions are ridiculous."
Sam frowns.
"I mean, it is an interesting question," he admits.
Dean shoots him a glare.
Sam's cell phone rings before they can continue debating Elena's question.
"Hello?"
Sam sits up.
"Charlie?"
After a moment, he hands the phone back to Elena, his face serious.
"What is it?" Dean asks.
Charlie clings to Elena on the motel bed, her face buried in Elena's shoulder.
Around them Dean and Sam work methodically, covering the mirrors with sheets, turning them to face the wall.
Charlie rocks back and forth, her boots banging into Elena's shins, bruises blooming.
Elena doesn't flinch.
Charlie's fingernails dig into Elena's skin through her shirt, leaving crescent indents.
Elena doesn't flinch. She simply smooths her free hand down Charlie's hair.
Dean throws one last sheet over the television.
Sam sits down on Charlie's other side.
"They're done," Elena tells her. "It's okay, you can open your eyes now."
Charlie reluctantly emerges from her hiding place at the curve of Elena's neck.
"We're just gonna stay right here," Elena says, her voice going lullaby soft.
It's this perfect tone, the perfect pitch to sooth. Sometimes Sam wonders if it's is the closest approximation to a Siren song that a human girl's voice can get. That's how effective it is on people.
"We're going to stay right here," Elena repeats. "You aren't going to look at any mirrors or glass, or anything with a reflective surface. She can't get to you."
Charlie sniffs.
"But we can't stay like this forever," she says mournfully. "I'm gonna die, aren't I?"
"No, not any time soon," Elena says, and this time her tone is firm and ringing, the voice she uses to speak words into truth.
Dean comes over then to sit down next to Elena.
"All right, Charlie, we need to know what happened."
Elena leans into Dean, just a little, but enough for Sam to see it.
"We were in the bathroom. Donna said it."
"That's not what we're talking about, Charlie," Elena says.
Dean continues for her.
"Something happened, didn't it? In your life. A secret where someone got hurt."
Charlie seems to realize that she has to tell them. She curls into Elena again.
Elena combs her fingers through her hair.
"Can you tell us about?" Elena asks, the lullaby voice back.
Charlie's mouth trembles.
"I had this boyfriend," she says finally. "I loved him. But he kinda scared me, too, you know? And one night at his house, we got in this fight. And I broke up with him, and he got upset. He said he needed me and he loved me. And he said… 'Charlie, if you walk out that door right now, I'm gonna kill myself.'" She pauses. "And you know what I said? I said, 'Go ahead.' And I left." She pauses again, holding her breath.
Finally she releases it, her words coming out in a rush, "How could I say that? How could I leave him like that? I just, I didn't believe him, you know?"
She looks at Elena for a long moment.
"I should have."
She buries her face back into Elena's shoulder, sobbing again.
It's decided through Dean and Elena's particular brand of telepathy that she will stay with Charlie while Dean and Sam go destroy the mirror.
Charlie shakes all over and she keeps clenching her eyes shut, tucking herself back into Elena's shoulder, unable to shake the feeling that she's going to start seeing something—someone—she shouldn't.
Elena gently unfolds herself from Charlie, goes over to her bags, rummaging around in them for a while.
"Here," Elena says, coming back to the bed with a red scarf in her hands. "Let's try something."
Dutifully, Charlie lets Elena wrap the scarf around her face, blindfolding her.
"Lie down," Elena says, pressing gently on her shoulder. Charlie lies down and Elena positions herself so that Charlie's head is in her lap.
She starts to run her hands through her hair again, humming a little. She hums nonsense mostly, sometimes finds herself Metallica without meaning to.
She pauses her humming. "If you need to take it off, just say so, okay?" Elena tells Charlie.
Charlie nods.
"It's helping, I think," she says.
Elena goes back to humming.
After a while Charlie starts to relax.
She's just about on the brink of falling asleep when her mind plays a dirty trick and reminds her of the moment she saw Mary behind her in her teacher's glasses. Suddenly, she's afraid again. Just because she can't see her, doesn't mean Mary isn't there with them.
She shoots off the bed, ripping the scarf off her face. When she whirls around there is only Elena sitting on the bed, looking at her with sympathy.
"You can't see her, but that doesn't mean she's not here," Elena says, instantly understanding her terror.
Like a child, Charlie returns to her comforting embrace.
"She's here," she says into her shoulder, shaking again.
"She probably is," Elena agrees. "But she can't do anything to you without a reflective surface," she reminds her. "They're all covered up. Maybe she's here, but she has no power."
Charlie nods against her shoulder.
"She has no power," she repeats, trying to comfort herself.
After a while she sits up next to Elena.
She glances curiously over at the other girl.
"Are you afraid?" she asks.
Elena looks at her.
"She won't come after me," she says.
"That must be nice, not having blood on your hands," Charlie says wistfully. She bites her lip then, realizing that what she said could be considered rude.
Elena cocks her head to the side.
"Of course I have blood on my hands," she says, shocking Charlie. "It's just that it was never a secret that it was my fault people died."
Charlie stares at her, wide-eyed.
"Oh," she says in a small voice. "I'm sorry," she adds. "That was presumptuous of me."
Elena shrugs.
Silence descends. Charlie searches desperately for something to break it, but Mary lingers at the edge of all of her thoughts, and she can't imagine a single thing to say to this mysterious girl in front of her who has no bloody secrets because she wears the blood on her hands like a pair of perfectly fitted gloves.
Like she can read her mind, like she knows Charlie needs anything else to think about, Elena breaks the silence.
"Sometimes you pay for your sins," she says cryptically, staring at the wall. "And sometimes you pay for things about yourself that can't be helped. Parts of yourself that can't be changed."
Charlie stares at her.
Gathering her courage, she asks, "What do you mean?"
Elena looks at her finally.
"I was born cursed," she tells her. "It's in my blood."
Charlie blinks, wonders about this terrifying world of curses and folklore that runs parallel to what she'd always thought was the real world.
Elena's world is real too, as many tall tales that are told about it, there's a grain of truth in every one.
For a moment, Charlie studies the girl in front of her. She's beautiful, the most beautiful girl Charlie has ever seen, bar none. No movie star or reality diva or renaissance painting could compare.
Even Jill had said so, in their last phone call. She'd talked about the brothers' attractiveness, of course, but she'd wondered what girl who could make a model insecure was doing in a place like Ohio. Charlie wondered at the time, too. She ponders the question again.
"Is that why you do what you do?" she asks finally, referring to Elena's claim that the blood on her hands is a family curse.
Elena cocks her head to the side, considering her, then shakes her head.
"No, but I was born to do this too," she says.
Charlie gives her a curious look, as if to ask for more.
"No one ever tells you what it's like to be born for more than one thing," Elena says. "There are so many people you have to be, whether you want it or not. You can run, but you never stop being any of them. You never outrun them. You just waste time." She pauses.
"I don't know why they don't write stories about that, I'd read about it."
Charlies laughs a little, still confused.
"I'd read it, too," she says.
Elena smiles at her.
"I used to want to be a writer," she says.
Charlie cocks her head to the side.
"You could still write," she offers. "Write about what you do, people will think it's fiction."
Elena shakes her head.
"I don't want to call the truth fiction," she says. "I don't think people should be brought into this world if they don't have to be, but I don't want to call it a lie either."
Charlie nods in understanding.
Elena is quiet again, but this time Charlie has something else to think about.
Without detail, Elena has told her what she is, a cursed girl, and a born fighter. Right after, she told her what she used to want to be, what she'd given up because of who she was born to be. Charlie thinks about that sometimes, who she is because she's told she has to be that person, and who she wants to be, who she feels she was born to be.
Without meaning to, Charlie leans against Elena.
Elena puts an arm around her shoulders.
After a moment, Elena takes a breath, getting ready to speak.
"I know you probably don't want to talk about it," she starts. "But it wasn't your fault, what your boyfriend did."
Charlie holds her breath.
"I'm not going to give a lecture about abusive behavior or mental illness or anything like that," Elena says. "But we are all responsible for our own actions. What happened to him was a result of his own actions, not yours. He had no right to put that on you."
Charlie breathes out, searches for words, finds none. She puts her arms around Elena's waist, hugging her and breathing in the smell of her hair and skin, listens to the sound of her heartbeat.
'It wasn't your fault."
Charlie tightens her grip.
Elena falls silent after that.
They sit there together in silence for a long time.
When the boys get back, Charlie is asleep, curled up in Elena's lap.
Sam has a smear of blood across his cheek.
Dean has some flaking off of his chin.
The next day they drive Charlie home.
They pull up in front of her house, and Dean turns off the engine, both brothers turning back to look at her in the backseat next to Elena.
"So this is really over?" she asks
Dean nods. "Yeah, it's over."
She looks at all three of them, reaching out to squeeze Elena's hand.
"Thank you," she says to all of them.
Dean reaches out to squeeze her knee affectionately.
She smiles at him. She looks over at Elena, then tugs at her hand while she opens the door with her free one.
Elena nods in understanding and follows her out of the Impala to walk her to her door.
"Charlie," Sam calls after them suddenly.
They both turn back.
"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."
Charlie smiles at him, but doesn't say anything. She thinks about Sam, who says that bad things happen for no reason, and Elena who says that she was born cursed, and born to fight.
She's pretty sure they're both right.
Her and Elena continue to her door.
Once they're out of earshot, Dean smacks Sam in the shoulder.
Sam turns to look at him, startled.
"That's good advice," Dean says.
Sam just gives him a look, they both turn back towards Charlie's house to see what's holding Elena up.
Charlie is saying something to her, reaching out to hug her, and then she pulls a slip of paper out of her pocket, hands it to Elena.
Dean's mouth drops open.
"Did she just?" Dean asks, practically stuttering.
Sam laughs out loud, partially in disbelief and partially because Dean looks ridiculous.
"I think she just did," Sam says.
Charlie disappears inside and Elena starts to walk back to them, a slightly stunned look on her face.
She crawls back into the backseat.
"Did she just give you her number?" Sam asks, somewhat incredulously.
Elena nods, still more than a little shocked.
"What the hell happened in that motel room?" Dean asks.
Elena snaps out of it.
"Shut the hell up and drive, Winchester," Elena says, narrowing her eyes at him.
"Un-friggin'-believable," he mutters under his breath as he complies.
Sam laughs out loud again.
Dean is, without a doubt, jealous of the fact that a pretty little high school girl gave his Elena her number.
It's all fun and games and laughter, Dean teasing Elena, Elena teasing Dean, Sam laughing at both of them.
Charlie's little stunt is enough to make Dean forget to ask Sam about his secret, the secret Mary came after him for.
It's all fun and games until Sam sees Jess, blinding in white, on the corner of the street. She's gone before he can fully process her presence.
In her dream, Elena is the reflection in the mirror. The girl staring back at her tosses her perfect antebellum curls, cherry lips smirking around fangs, sucking blood from Elena's slender fingers.
Elena can only stare in horror at the monstrous girl, after all, she is only her reflection. The girl pirouettes into a girl with doe eyes, her prey eyes blinking at Elena from the right side of the mirror.
She smiles, teeth gleaming white, then she screams endlessly, her doll eyes blinking as her neck flops over, spewing blood from a gaping hole at her pulse point, and smiling, smiling, smiling.
In the mirror, Elena drowns in their blood, older than the millennia between them.
Elena awakens suddenly.
She doesn't sit up, two years is long enough that she is aware of Dean asleep in bed beside her, even in her confused state. She gulps down air, shaking a little.
Her panicked breaths are the only sound in the dark motel room, Sam asleep for once.
Dean rolls over, and she stops breathing.
The room is dead silent now.
She knows he's awake.
He doesn't say anything, just opens his arms, waits patiently while she battles with herself.
She lists all the reasons she shouldn't, all the promises that say she won't. She gives in, lets out the breath she's been holding as she curls into his arms. She lets him press her against his chest, one hand splayed across her spine, the other cradling the back of her head with care.
She lets go as completely as she can without spilling her secrets into his waiting ears. She shakes all over, lets him hold her together, the physical act of holding becoming a metaphorical act all at once.
She tells herself that it's just that, the act of someone holding her, that she wants. Tells herself that it could be anyone, she's scared and half-asleep and she'd let anyone hold her right now. This isn't about him, this is about the act of comfort.
The truth: it's him.
She tells herself five more minutes, then another, then he falls asleep again, all without saying a word.
She's not shaking anymore, she's not even upset, she should move out of his arms and back to her side of the bed. She doesn't.
Tentatively, she pulls back just enough to see the curve of his cheek in the dim hallway light coming in through the curtain.
She thinks she knows this face better than she knows her own. She's stared down a woman who wears her face and she still doesn't see it on the insides of her eyelids like she sees his.
She's been diligently ignoring the rusty taste in her mouth since she woke up from her dream. Carefully her tongue prods her mouth, searching for sores, open wounds. She finds none. She swallows again and again, but all she tastes is blood, like drowning in her dreams.
Carefully, she slips out of Dean's embrace, reaching for her running shoes.
tbc.
AN: Chapter title is from Control by Halsey. All right so, I'm gonna start a new little thing, just for fun I'll tell you something about each song or artist that I'm using for chapter titles in the end author's note. I'll go back and edit in the other ones when I'm slightly more lucid.
I know Control is incredibly overused, especially in fandoms, but for me that doesn't detract from the power of the chorus one bit, I still get chills every time I hear it.
Also, I just remembered, I have a oneshot I'm planning on posting Friday (fingers crossed) I'm telling you now in hopes that this will make me feel obligated to not forget or put it off again. It is Deanlena, and it is mostly done, I'm just an annoying perfectionist who can't stop tweaking things. I won't give too much away, but I will say that it has nothing to do with Addendum, and since I've spent so much time riding in the backseat of the Impala with Elena, I thought it would be fun to return to her original playground, so it takes place mostly in the tvd verse.
Anyway, I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, see you next Sunday for Skin. Questions? Comments? Please Review!
xoxo
-Pixie