Ta daaaah! My story for kimonkey7’s Found Fic challenge. The prompt was “The Mirror Is Not Working”. I just sat down and wrote whatever my brain threw up.

…it threw up a lot!

Um… yeah, let me know what you think of this one.

Dean, Sam and their awesome car are not mine. Kripke (who is EVIL! EVIL DAMN YOU!) owns the Winchester clan and is the one laughing all the way to the bank, not me.

An old hotel in an abandoned theme park is full of ghosts, but the Brothers Winchester just need to find the one ghost that’s been killing people…

Mirroring

The job description was refreshingly straightforward: Exorcism. The location was a big-ass abandoned hotel (and if Dean let slip one more Shining reference, Sam was going to punch him) in an old, disused Arkansas theme park that too many kids liked to run around exploring.

Finding the place was easy. In the nearby towns, you only had to ask people below the age of sixty about the old park and they would willingly give directions, stories of long-ago family days out there and even more stories about the legendary hauntings.

It was the kids who had the best stories of course, mostly because it was people their age who were dying in the old hotel on a regular, annual basis. Seemed everyone they spoke to had a friend of a friend whose brother/sister/cousin died after a late night jaunt to the old park. Many of the high schools had lost at least one student since the late Seventies to the ghosts of the Family Adventure Land, closed down in 1975 after several questionable deaths.

They’d dug deep enough to confirm numerous deaths and discovered, as expected, a pattern. The deaths since the park’s closure always occurred in the second week of May and, as expected, there was a death in 1975 that corresponded to the more recently slain.

So, after learning that the first death involved a woman falling out of a hotel window, Sam figured they were dealing with a spirit pissed off at dying so soon. A little more research revealed that while there had been other deaths, one involving a kid drowning in the hotel’s pool and the other deaths related to people who had fallen out of rides, only the woman who had fallen from the window fit the pattern.

The problem was the fact that she had been cremated. That made the job a little harder. But it had to be done. The theme park was a magnet for kids with too much free time and too great a need for adventure. It had to be made safe, at least from supernatural threats.

They hit the park at night, just as a gigantic storm began to rip through the sky. They were soaked before they got anywhere near the hotel, the Impala incapable of driving up the overgrown walkways. The old hotel was barely visible behind the untended trees and rabid bushes that sought to conceal it and just about every other suggestion that this wild place had once been a theme park. Once they found it, getting in was easy. No one cared enough to lock it down and the door was swinging open in the storm. They went in, the hotel’s enormity swallowing them whole. In it’s day, it must’ve been an amazing place: a massive lobby and sprawling hallways with extensive carpets, cream walls and white ceilings, sparkling chandeliers and furniture that was expensive and comfortable. Now it was all smothered in dust, damp and dirt, falling apart and left to nature.

The energy of the storm’s thunder and lightning seemed to be kicking up just about every spirit left in the hotel. Thankfully all of them were completely harmless – especially the spirit of the kid who had drowned in the hotel’s indoor pool. He seemed happy to splash around and occasionally let out loud bellowing giggles but other than that, no harm no foul. There were numerous dead teenagers roaming the place too, gaggles of girls and boys who would appear with a blast of cold air, run down a hallway, and disappear through a wall. Dean’s trigger finger was itching but so far Sam had stopped him from shooting the harmless spirits. Chances were the lot of them would all fall dormant again as soon as the storm was over. No, the real issue was the dead girl killing giddy teenagers.

“We probably need to go upstairs,” Sam said, his flashlight swinging around to capture the twin elevators at the back of the lobby and the bathrooms on either side. “The report said fourth floor, right? Room right at the end of the hallway?”

“Yeah. Guess if you’re gonna take a dive outta window, you gotta make sure you’re as high as you can go.”

“Don’t wanna risk surviving I guess.”

Dean shook his head. “She didn’t die quickly, that’s for damn sure.”

“I know. Impaled on the iron fence.”

Both brothers shuddered at that thought.

“At least they took the fence away before people started poking around this place,” Sam commented.

“Do you know how much that would suck? Death by impalement?”

Sam grinned. “You can dish it out but not take it?”

“Exactly.”

The stairwell was on the hallway to the left. The hallway to the right led to what had once been a restaurant and a shop. The doorway to the stairwell was cracked open, the ground marked by tracks upon tracks of feet that had marched up them. The stairwell’s walls were awash with graffiti, from meaningless and pitiful scrawls to full on works of bold, colorful art.

“Weird how it’s all in here and not in the lobby,” Sam commented as he took the lead, shotgun held ready.

“Maybe the ghosts clean it up,” was Dean’s less-than-interested reply.

“What if they do?”

“With what? Cleaning supplies from Ghosts-R-Us?”

Sam rolled his eyes even though his back was to Dean. “You’re hilarious.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They made it up the rest of the stairs in silence, a silence disturbed by the occasional outburst of hysterical screaming and giggling from long dead teenage girls.

“Didn’t anyone tell ‘em they’re not supposed to have fun after they’re dead?” Dean observed as they stepped out onto the fourth floor.

Laughing, Sam said, “You wanna tell ‘em?”

“Nah. Don’t wanna piss ‘em off.”

“Yeah, I know how you feel about pissed off spirits.”

They squelched down the fourth floor hallway, the mouldy carpet sodden from recent rain. Rain attacked the windows, the sharply cold weather making its way in through holes in the windows and outer walls. The hotel was worryingly frail, its wooden frame shaking a little too much with every loud thunderclap. The lightning lit it up bright white, casting jagged shadows that lasted for too brief a time to make out. It was enough to freak out anyone who didn’t know what to expect. Sam found it easy to put himself in the mindset of a teenaged kid who believed the ghost stories and thought that this place was the ultimate test of bravery. They had no idea how close to the truth they really were.

Oh to be so naïve.

“This place smells worse than your armpit after a five-mile run,” Dean commented, wrinkling his nose.

Sam just gave his snickering brother a shove. But Dean was right. The stench was pretty horrific, heavy and cloying. It was a smell that left a bad taste in the mouth, a strange cross between dust and really bad cheese. Whatever it was, it was foul, but it became unnoticeable after a while, as so many bad odors did in their lives.

“I’m still waiting for the day I lose my sense of smell,” Dean said with a smirk.

The room the death had occurred in was at the end of the hallway, above where there had once been an iron fence separating hotel from parking lot. The newspaper report said the woman had fallen out backwards in some kind of freak accident and impaled herself through the stomach. However it happened, it was a nasty way to go.

“Her Dad was devastated and he had a lot of power – an oil tycoon from Texas or something – and he pretty much signed the park’s death warrant,” Sam said quietly as they followed the hallway to its next turn. “If a big rich guy wants something done, he can get it done. And he got this place closed down faster than anyone could’ve imagined.”

Dean’s laugh held no humor. “Nothing like a rich girl’s distraught daddy to go getting revenge the only way he knows how.”

“Yeah well, people were pissed off about the announcement that the place was to close so to appease them, the guy allowed people who really loved the place to set up that weeklong celebration… week.”

“’Weeklong celebration week’?” Dean repeated. “Yeah, best sentence ever there Sam.”

But Sam didn’t comment and when the silence went on a little too long, Dean looked at his brother and saw that Sam was staring down the new corridor with a look of confusion on his face. “What?” Dean asked.

Sam pointed. “What’s up with that mirror?”

Dean looked. “Huh?”

Sam pushed past him and walked up to the old mirror that was still leaning up against a sagging wall covered in painfully floral wallpaper. “At first maybe I thought it was angled weird but…”

“But…?”

Sam pulled a piece of paper off of the mirror. “The mirror is not working,” he read aloud.

Dean looked. Both he and his brother were missing from the reflection of the hallway. Even the light from their flashlights failed to be captured. “Okay, that’s weird.” He put his hand on the mirror’s cold surface. “Definitely a mirror.”

Sam slapped Dean’s hand back. “Dude!”

Dean clasped his stinging hand in the other. “It’s not gonna bite Sam.”

But Sam was not appeased. “It’s a mirror that’s somehow not showing us and you wanna touch it? That’s like offering yourself to a Great White!”

“Only with less teeth. No teeth, so it’s more like I’m touching a mirror.”

Sam threw up his hands.

Dean sobered. “Any ideas?”

“About a mirror like this? No.”

It was when the dead woman appeared in the center of the mirror’s hallway reflection that it became obvious that the mirror was haunted. She was pale, bloody and obviously dead. Her entire look screamed bad Seventies fashion, from the godawful orange pants, yellow tank-top over a bold green shirt and poofy brown hair that would easily outdo the mullet rockers Dean loved so dearly. Both brothers spun around, shotguns ready to fire. But the pale ghost wasn’t behind them. Sam looked over his shoulder and saw that her reflection was still there, insisting that the woman was standing behind in the hallway.

“Shoot anyway,” Sam said.

“Shoot where?”

“Forward!”

Dean fired. Nothing. The reflection didn’t so much as shimmer in and out of focus. Instead it closed in, taking up more of the mirror’s surface and blocking out the hallway.

“Whoa.”

Dean looked. “What?”

“She’s got a hole in the head.”

And so she did, a narrow bullet hole right between the eyes. Somehow, the bloody opening into her head was more shocking that the one piercing her stomach where she had pierced the iron fence after falling out of the window.

“That’s… unexpected,” Dean said.

That was all he said, because then the woman was throwing herself out of the mirror. She seized Sam’s wrist and pulled hard. Dean just about thought fast enough to grab Sam.

“Y’know,” Sam said as he tried to free himself. “That kinda explains one thing…”

“Can’t the explaining wait?!”

She leaned out far enough to place her dead lips next to Sam’s ear. Her mouth moved but her words were raspy gasps of broken air. Sam was torn between wanting to know what she had to say and wanting to save himself from further injury, because the mirror’s glass was digging into his fingers and palm and pretty soon his wrist would be slashed.

She choked out, “… me, or… kill you…”

It wasn’t enough but self-preservation won out.

Sam aimed his shotgun at the mirror and fired. The woman disappeared with a rasping shriek. Not ready for the sudden release, Dean pulled Sam off balance and they crashed to the ground.

Despite the stink, the dirt and the damp, Sam found the carpet to be the perfect place to fill Dean in on his thoughts. “The victims that died here after the place was shut down? All of them were apparently killed by thousands of scratches – all shallow but enough of them to cause death by blood loss.”

Dean mulled it over briefly, a flash of lightning marking the time it took for him to come to a conclusion. “So, you’re saying that the ghost scratches them to death?”

“Sure. If she pulls them into the mirror, the glass probably does it to ‘em.”

“Bloody Mary flashback,” Dean muttered.

“Don’t say that!”

“What, Bloody Mary?”

“Dean!”

“I’m kidding. Seriously. Bleeding from the eyes is way overestimated. Anyway dude, get your huge ass off of me.” Dean pushed and Sam scrambled to his feet. Dean also stood before speaking. “So what? We’ve got a dead chick who got shot in the head, thrown out of a window and then impaled on a fence?”

“Good reason to be pissed,” Sam commented. He thought for a moment. “We’re missing some of the story.”

“Y’think? Takes more than bad luck to shoot yourself in the head, fall out of a window and then land a perfect fall on the friggin’ fence.”

Sam looked again at the mirror that hadn’t sustained even a single crack after the blast it had taken from the rock salt. “She must’ve been shot in the head before she fell out of the window. And she must’ve died in the hotel too…”

“Because her spirit found its way into a mirror.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, so she was murdered and then whoever did it tried to cover it up by throwing her out of the window.” Dean paced the hallway a little. “But why the hell would her oh so concerned rich daddy leave that little detail out of all the press reports?”

“Must be some big, dark family secret.”

“Ooh Sammy, going straight for the melodrama. I like it.”

“When has it ever been straightforward in cases like this?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”

A particularly fierce burst of thunder shook the hotel, the sound so loud it was like giants in hobnail boots were marching back and forth across the roof. Lightning bright enough to blind followed and when Dean managed to blink the whiteness out of his vision, the hotel hallway and the mirror came blurred into view.

The ghost was back and she was reaching out of the mirror. Sam noticed and barely backed away in time. This time, Dean gave her a face full of rock salt and again she disappeared with a scream. The mirror however was completely unscathed and that just didn’t seem right.

“Y’think we should smash it?” Dean asked, not taking his eyes or his aim off of the reflective glass.

They watched as a message wrote itself in the mirror. The Mirror Is Not Working.

“This one and every other mirror we come across, assuming she can move through them the same way Mary could.”

“Hello bad luck,” Dean muttered as he put his boot through the glass.

…well, he tried to put his boot through the mirror. It had other ideas. Indestructible ideas.

“Damnit,” Dean grumbled, kicking the mirror a few more times just in case. Nothing. He had about as much luck breaking the mirror as a single kick of his would have bringing down the Empire State Building. “Freaky possessed mirror.”

“We need to get to the room where she died,” Sam said. “There’s gotta be a clue there.”

“No, what we need to do is figure out how the bitch got herself shot in the head. If that’s how she died for real, then that’s gotta be the real problem.”

They began walking again, the windows in this hallway completely missing. The rain soaked them as they walked past the guest rooms that didn’t have any doors and had, at various times in the past, been used as a home for the otherwise homeless. The debris of human activity littered the fourth floor, until they reached the room where the woman had to have been shot and then tossed from the window.

The door was in place, perfectly painted and perfectly locked. Dean stood guard while Sam, with his superior skills, picked the lock. Lightning blinded them again, thunder hurrying to take its noisy place right over the hotel. The floor shook but even that couldn’t explain the loud crash from the hallway they had just turned off of.

“You have got to be kiddin’ me.”

“What?” Sam asked without looking, despite the powerful urge to do just that.

“The mirror is following us.”

“Huh. Wasn’t expecting that,” Sam said coolly.

Dean fired uselessly again. “I bet a friggin’ RPG couldn’t pierce that!”

“But I bet you wish you could try,” Sam said in an exasperated tone that was only partially faked.

“Hell yeah I do. RPG? Now that’s a weapon Sam.”

The lock clicked and the door opened silently.

There was another huge mirror right behind the door, its reflection capturing the other’s reflection…

…and the dead woman, over and over and over and over again until it seemed like the reflections went up a hill into eternity.

The brothers got into the room and slammed the door shut. They didn’t even need to speak as they reached for the mirror behind the door and set it flat against the ground. It started shaking straight away, two pale hands pushing against the filthy carpet.

“Think she can step out of the mirrors?” Sam asked as they walked into the main part of the room where the beds and other furniture would have once been. Strange that this room was empty when all of the others were practically fully decked out in furniture that was ruined but furniture nonetheless.

“Let’s just assume she can get out and be ready for it,” Dean replied as he poked around the room. “We’re gonna go with the idea that she was murdered.” There was a perfectly timed burst of thunder and lightning after Dean finished the final word of that sentence. “Who did it and why?” He added as the lightning’s glare faded from his eyes.

The mirror gave a nerve-wracking clatter and bitter, angry growls emanated from the corner of the room where it slid across the ground.

“Could’ve been anyone,” Sam said.

“Less of the hopeless, more of the ‘I know everything, those CSI guys can kiss my ass’ Sam.”

“Okay, okay. Uh… well, her dad was super rich. Maybe she got killed in some kind of abduction attempt that went wrong?”

“You think maybe she pissed off a bellboy and he went postal on her?” Dean called over his shoulder as he stepped into the en suite bathroom. “Dude, you should see the crap in this toilet!”

“Dean…”

“I’m still thinking.”

“None of the stories we heard talked about murder,” Sam commented.

“That’s ‘cause all the stories we heard were more about the ghost’s victims.”

“True. But the report we did read about this dead woman said she fell from the window. Why no mention of a murder?”

“Maybe her Dad was embarrassed by it somehow and didn’t want his business to suffer from his kid’s mistake.”

The mirror gave a violent shudder as harsh screams hissed out. Sam was tempted to throw it into the storm. He looked out of the window, looked at the rain. Nothing came to him.

Dean was still looking around the bathroom when the mirror suddenly launched itself upright. A post-it note identical to the one on the other mirror was stuck in the middle but Sam looked past it to watch the reflection. It showed a woman, the woman, standing in front of the window. She looked far more alive though, and the weather outside the window was far from storming. In the mirror, a beautiful spring day lit up the image.

And another person was standing to the mirror’s side, their shoulder just visible.

“Dean? You should see this.”

The mirror fast forwarded through several essential scenes and Dean came to stand by Sam’s side just as the gunshot dropped the woman to the floor, blood spilling from the back of her head and spurting freely from the wound cracking her skull in the forehead. Both brothers looked down and, as expected, the old bloodstain remained.

They turned back to the mirror in time to watch the woman take a nosedive out of the window, a man’s hands still held in the action of pushing.

And still the mirror wasn’t finished. It skipped again, cutting to a leg disappearing into the ceiling.

They looked up and there it was, a small hatch that would lead into the attic. If they hadn’t known it was there they probably wouldn’t have spotted it. It was the exact same color as the ceiling. Only a thin black line revealed the fact that it was a hatch.

The woman, dead again, returned to the mirror. Blood oozed out of the hole in her head. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling before she looked at the brothers again and began to reach out, her hands piercing the glass and touching air.

“She wants us to go up there,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I bet she does.”

“She’s not attacking us right now and you know she could be.”

“And yet I’m not comforted. Why is that Sam?”

The old note fluttered off of the mirror.

“She tried telling me something earlier…”

“… me, or… kill you.”

“Sam…”

“Just wait Dean.”

Dean just about silenced all other protests.

The woman struggled to get the missing words out. “Help… or I…”

They put it together simultaneously. “Help me or I kill you?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “That’s a new one.”

The woman tried to grab them again but she took another blast of salt and was turned into smoke. They reloaded as the mirror fell backwards. It still didn’t smash but at least now they weren’t in danger from imminent death.

“Looks like we gotta get up there,” Sam said, nodding to the closed hatch leading to the attic. “And it looks like you get to go ‘cause you need a boost to reach the ceiling and…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I can’t lift you blah, blah, blah.”

Sam grinned and interlaced his fingers. Pushing his flashlight into his back pocket and his shotgun into his jeans, Dean stepped up and reached, his hands landing on the piece of wood that separated room from attic. He pushed hard and the panel lifted, dust and water raining down. The dust was thick and old, landing on Dean’s head and turning his hair a nasty gray.

“I’m having a vision of your middle age Dean,” Sam called up as Dean hauled himself into the attic.

“The comedian, ladies and gentleman,” Dean retorted.

“What’s up there?”

Dean pulled the flashlight out and swung it around. It wasn’t a pretty sight. “A lotta dead birds, insects and dust.”

“There’s gotta be more.”

“There’s a lot of crap. Furniture, sheets…”

“Bodies shaped like people?”

“Er…”

“It’s not that hard Dean.”

“Dude, I’m looking. Seriously, so much crap.” Dean began moving rotting boxes and animal carcasses aside. “This better not be a trap. A haunted mirror showed us a guy climbing up here. Doesn’t mean it actually happened.” Dean slowly edged forward, clearing a path as he went. Something white caught his eye. It was buried under a pile of rusted tins, crumbling remains of cardboard boxes and at least one dead rat. He moved over to it and began pushing it all aside with his foot. “So, so, so much crap…”

“Just hurry up.” Sam eyed the mirror. It was still for now but he didn’t have much confidence in it staying that way for long. “Look for a gun or some bloodstained clothing or…”

“Or a pile of newspapers that are all from the exact same day with the exact same article.”

“Can you read any of them?”

“Help… or I’ll…”

Sam didn’t hear what Dean said. He was too busy focusing on the mirror as it launched itself upright. It slid back into place against the wall facing the door. Sam moved back so he could see if the woman had reappeared. She had, and so had the note (as if they had forgotten that the mirror wasn’t working). She was staring at him with eyes that demanded do what I want or you die.

“…get that, Sam?”

Sam returned to his spot under the hatch. “Uh, no. I was distracted.”

“Spirit’s back?”

“And looking like she’s getting ready to make good on that ‘I’ll kill you’ threat.”

“Okay well, looks like there were newspaper reports but Daddy Dearest must’ve bought them all…”

“Get to the important part Dean,” Sam called.

He read the headline with the perfect balance of seriousness and subtle amusement: “Amusement Park Sees Crime of Passion. Connor Duvall, son of a successful engineer, was arrested last night for the murder of Rachel Danielson, daughter of Vern Danielson. Duvall claims Miss Danielson was in serious need of help – suffering from a drug and alcohol addiction –“

“That explains her demands for help and her threats to kill,” Sam said.

“Do you want to rest of the story?”

“Yeah, sorry. Go on.”

“Thank you. …and that last night he shot her in self-defence after she tried to shoot him after she found out he was sleeping with another girl. Duvall claims they never dated and that Miss Danielson was suffering from delusions. He also told police that he managed to get the gun after a brief fight and later shot her, not meaning to kill. Police state that they do not believe him due to the fact that he also threw Miss Danielson’s body out of a window, as if to conceal the murder with an apparent accident.” Dean snorted. “Yeah, ‘cause bullet wounds always pop up when you throw people through windows.”

“Anything else Dean?” Sam hoped he didn’t sound nervous but that mirror was moving again and he was starting to worry that maybe the ghost’s – Rachel’s – eyes really would be able to kill.

“Her father has expressed rage that the theme park where they were staying allowed a man carrying a weapon onto its premises. He has vowed that he will not rest until justice is carried out…” Dean scanned the article quickly. “Huh, says Duvall’s father had worked with Danielson a few time, hence their kids knowing each other…”

“But she was a addicted to drugs and Duvall wanted better.”

“Looks like.”

“And her Dad didn’t want people to know she had a drug problem…”

“’Cause a messed up daughter is way worse for business than a dead one,” Dean surmised.

The mirror feinted to the left. Sam’s finger twitched but he didn’t fire. “Is there more?”

“I can’t read the rest of the article but I’m looking…”

The mirror screeched as it shifted along the wall. “Look faster.”

Dean rolled up his sleeves and dug through the mound of newspaper. He reached down until he found the floor…

…and a gun. He could feel by its weight that it was still loaded. Pulling it free, Dean held it up to his flashlight. It was actually a revolver, still loaded with seven of its eight possible rounds. Turning it around, Dean saw the markings on its black grip. RD. Rachel Danielson.

“I think I got it.” Dean lowered himself back into the main room, landing next to Sam. “Any idea how we’re gonna exorcise a gun?”

Sam took it just as the mirror slid into a position where it could face the room and, more important to Rachel’s spirit, its new prey. “D’you think it still works?”

“Dunno. It’s been up there for over thirty years. Gotta love the crack police work. How did they not find the damn thing?”

Sam didn’t answer. Instead, he twisted the barrel with his thumb so a bullet was ready to go, aimed at the mirror and fired.

The revolved still worked. The bullet hit the mirror and it shattered loudly, louder than the storm’s last blasts. Rachel screamed but with the mirror gone, she was gone too.

“Nice,” Dean said, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

“I wonder if taking out all the mirrors will stop her.”

“We’ve only seen two mirrors. And now we only have six bullets, so we better hope there ain’t more than that.”

Sam turned the barrel again. “I’ll take out that one in the hallway and then we can search the rooms for any others…”

“Every floor?”

“Every floor.”

Dean groaned. “I wanted to get back to the room in time for the America’s Next Top Model finale.” He looked at his watch. “Damn, missed it by hours…”

“You did not just say that.”

Dean shot his brother a withering look. “Sam, don’t tell me you don’t watch it. I know which one of us is going online and watching all the extra videos and behind-the-scenes footage on the laptop. It ain’t me. I’m just man enough to admit that I watch it for entirely selfish reasons.”

Sam’s bright blush was visible even in the darkness. “How did you find out?”

“Control and H?”

“Since when did you know how to do that?!”

Dean laughed. “Dude, I may not be a geek but I still know how to use a computer.”

Sam walked on, reminding himself to not underestimate his brother’s computer knowledge ever again.

They found only three other mirrors left in the hotel, all bearing the note and all refusing to show Sam and Dean their own reflections. Rachel tried to kill them each time but rock salt from Dean and a bullet from Sam put her efforts to a stop. They then returned to the scene of the crime to exorcise it of any last vestiges of Rachel’s spirit. After that, Sam dismantled and exorcised the gun. By the time they were done, the storm was finally moving on and dawn was thinking about coming. The lobby was still a hotbed of dead teenage activity (Dean was pretty sure they’d never seen ghosts making out before), but they offered absolutely no threat so they were left to their devices, which soon faded into nothing as the storm broke and the first light of morning crept through the windows.

“Breakfast?” Dean asked once they reached the car.

Sam pointed at Dean’s head. “Not until you do something about your hair.”

Dean pulled a handful of sticky dust out of his hair. “That’s just wrong.”

“Yeah. Can’t get that on the upholstery.”

“No, I meant you, commenting on my hair. I dunno if you should be Tyra or Jay.”

“At least the mirrors work on that show.”

Dean all but fell into the car. It took him a good few minutes to stop laughing so hard that he couldn’t drive.

The End

I can so totally imagine them watching America’s Next Top Model :P

Thanks for reading!