What if Mary Died in a Different Room?

Dean arrived back from the cops in time to see Sam staring at his reflection in Mary's mirror, tears of blood wending their way down his cheeks. Dean had been surprised to find that Mary's mirror wasn't the large, somewhat grotesquely framed mirror, but a wooden framed one, about a foot square, hanging on the wall. Still, looks aren't everything – the mirror was deadly as hell, whatever it looked like.

With a shout Dean smashed the mirror, which cracked a bit disappointingly. Dean stared at it for a moment, wondering if that would do but then turned to the more pressing problem of Sam, who was on his knees and didn't exactly look peachy.

"Sammy, you okay?" Sam said nothing but looked as though he had one hell of a headache. Dean knelt in front him and held his face still to get a better look at it. It was definitely blood running down those cheeks, that was for sure. Aside from that, to Dean's great relief, there didn't seem to be anything else wrong and no permanent damage as far as he could see. But kneeling in a dark room full of broken mirrors wasn't the best place to be doing this.

Dean helped Sam to his feet and they began to walk slowly out of the room, until they heard the light tinkle of glass behind them. This wasn't a particularly surprising sound, considering the amount of glass that had been broken in that room but all the same, the two brothers turned around.

What they saw didn't exactly shock them, considering their line of work. A very dead-looking hand was pushing the broken glass out of Mary's mirror, from the wrong side. The attached arm then came out of the now empty frame and was shortly followed by a straggly, black head of hair. Then it stopped. Dean stepped cautiously closer, his grip tight on the crowbar. Mary, for that's who it was, struggled within the frame, but the rest of her refused to come. She was stuck.

"Shit," Dean raised his eyebrows; it wasn't often spirits used that kind of language. Mary struggled again, "Goddammit! You just had to be so damned correct about it, didn't you? Couldn't use the nice big mirror in the other room, could you? No, you had to use the exact one you died in front of. Mary, you ass," Mary paused to look up at Dean and Sam, who seemed to have frozen, "Couldn't give us a hand could you?"

"Hell no!" answered Dean for the both of them. He then moved forward and plucked the frame off the wall, Mary and all, and placed it in the middle of the floor. Mary was, by now, so wedged she couldn't slip back the way she'd come, leaving her sticking out of the floor, arm waving ridiculously, trying to get a purchase on something.

"I'm going to get the gas, watch her," said Dean to Sam, but he had barely taken three steps before turning back and saying, "Actually, don't watch her, in case she goes all bloody eyes on you again. Just make sure she doesn't go anywhere," then he left.

Sam grabbed Mary's flailing arm by the wrist, far too tightly in Mary's opinion. She tried to go all 'bloody eyes' on him, but he was looking resolutely in the other direction. Damn.

Dean returned and unceremoniously emptied the can over her head. He then whipped out a lighter and offered it to Sam.

"Care to do the honours?" Sam dropped Mary's arm, took the lighter and flicked it open.

"Gladly," he dropped the lighter and watched the first flames catch before they both turned and left the shop.

"Shit," said Mary.


Hope you enjoyed it!