This story takes place shortly after the SPN s2 ep Folsom Prison Blues. The Winchesters have slipped through Henriksen's fingers once again and the FBI isn't amused. This time they decide to call in a specialist to eliminate Sam and Dean. That specialist is named Marcie Ross and she just so happens to be invisible (to most people anyway).

Added a little addt'l explanation since Marcie Ross only appeared in one episode of BtVS (1.11 - Out of Mind, Out of Sight). She played a Sunnydale student who became invisible after feeling ignored by everyone. In the end, she was taken away by two FBI agents who placed her in a special school (filled with other invisible students) where she was to learn 'assassination and infiltration'. Fun stuff. Anyway, I played with Marcie's age a little. If she were Buffy's age, I think she'd be a little older than Sam, but for the purposes of this fic, I'm pretending they're the same age. You'll see why.


"I'm tellin' you Sammy," Dean argued as he lay face down on the motel bed. "A horny, invisible ghost chick was tryin' to put the moves on me."

Sam shook his head and started digging through the pockets of his brother's discarded jeans, looking for the keys to the Impala. Only his brother could be half out-of-his-mind with a fever and still manage to be a horndog.

"Dean, there are no ghosts in here," he repeated for the millionth time. "I've laid salt lines. I've run the EMF. There's nothing dude. You're just imagining things because your brain is cooking."

"S'not," Dean mumbled. "She was here Sam…pressed right up against my back. She had boobs and everything."

Sam ignored his brother and dropped the jeans he was holding with a sigh. He scanned the room, still searching for the missing keys. He finally spotted them peeking out from under an empty burger wrapper on the dresser.

"Sam. You listenin?"

"Well at least you like boobs," he replied absently as he snagged the keys and dropped the wrapper in the trash (Dean could be such a slob). "Things could be worse," he added. "You could be haunted by Elvis… big, sparkly Vegas Elvis."

"Screw you," his brother managed to reply before he was racked by a fit of coughing.

Sam winced in sympathy. The coughing had to be painful, especially since this had been going on for over a week. If he didn't show improvement by tomorrow, Sam was dragging him to the ER. Even if he had to knock him out to do it.

"Dean, I'm going to the store to get you some more medicine. Please, just lay there and try not to get too frisky with your new girlfriend. Okay?" When he didn't receive an answer, Sam reached over and shook his shoulder. "Seriously dude, do you hear me? Don't be a jerk. Stay put."

"Fine," he grumbled in reply. "Bring me some Coke."


As Sam crossed the motel parking lot, he noticed a girl standing beside the Impala. There wasn't anything particularly remarkable about her, but he immediately felt uneasy. She had short red hair, was average looking, and probably about his age. What bothered him was the way she was staring at him. Her gaze was intense, appraising, and very cold. She didn't even seem to be trying to hide it. Apparently, she didn't care if she got caught staring.

"Can I help you?" Sam asked as he drew closer.

The girl nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke to her. It was weird, because she obviously knew he was headed that way. The sound of his voice shouldn't have been that big of a surprise, but the girl appeared to be completely shocked.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked when the girl just stood there and continued to stare at him with wide eyes.

"Uh… I… yeah," she stammered. "Fine. I'm fine. S-sorry. I thought you were somebody else."

Sam frowned as he stared after the girl, who had bolted across the parking lot like she couldn't get away from him quickly enough. She looked back over her shoulder at him every few seconds as she walked. The whole encounter was very strange. Maybe she was drunk or something?


"The hell?" Dean mumbled as he tried to adjust his eyes to the bright fluorescent light above him. Where was he? And why was he lying on cold, hard concrete? He couldn't seem to think straight. It felt like his head weighed a ton and his mouth had been stuffed with cotton. Something was definitely wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it. His brain was mush and everything seemed out of focus. He tried to reach up and rub at his eyes, but realized he couldn't move his hands. They were tied… no, scratch that - they were cuffed behind him. His feet were tied together too. He briefly hoped that he'd gotten drunk and gone home with a girl who was into bondage, but his gut told him these restraints were not meant to be recreational. He was in real trouble.

"You're awake," a female voice remarked. Huh, maybe this was a bondage thing after all?

Dean felt a hand touching his shoulder and swore he could hear someone breathing above him, but he couldn't see anybody.

"I almost broke my back dragging you in here," the voice continued. Whoever this was, she sounded annoyed. "You better be worth all the trouble."

"What the hell are you talkin' about lady? Where am I?"

The girl snorted. "Nowhere good. I can tell you that much. But trust me. Things could get much worse if you don't tell me what I want to know."

Her threat was delivered in a soft whisper as she leaned down close to his ear. Dean knew this because he could feel her breath and the brush of her lips against his ear, but he still couldn't see her.

"Wait!" he exclaimed as his scrambled brain finally made a connection. "You're the ghost chick. You were tryin' to get in my pants! What the hell?"

Dean felt a stinging slap across his cheek. Ouch, this ghost was pretty solid.

"I'm not a ghost," the girl's angry voice replied, "but guys like you sure treated me that way. Don't flatter yourself," she continued on in an acid tone. "I wasn't trying to get in your pants. I just wanted to mess with your head a little. How does it feel?"

"Pretty damn annoying," he snapped back at her. Ghost chick or not, she was a bitch and she was starting to piss him off. "What the hell is your deal?" he demanded.

"I ask the questions," she replied coldly. "Starting with – how can your brother see me?"

"What? How do you know my brother? You better stay the hell—," Dean was cut off by another slap to the face.

"You're not very smart, are you? What part of 'I ask the questions' did you not understand?"

"Bite me."

"Yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you? Let's try again," she suggested cheerfully. "How-can-your-brother-see-me?" she asked, emphasizing each word.

"I-don't-know-bitch," Dean replied, echoing her tone. "Why shouldn't he be able to see you? Why can't I see you? That's my big question, cause that ain't normal. What the hell are you anyway?"

"I'm a person," she hissed. "A real, live person. At least I was until guys like you treated me like I didn't exist."

Dean groaned. "What is it with all this 'guys like me' crap? I don't even know you, lady. I haven't done jack to you."

"I know your type. You were Mister Popular in high school. If a girl wasn't a cheerleader or the prom queen, you didn't give her a second look. Sound familiar?"

"High school," Dean repeated with a laugh. "Who the hell remembers high school? Just so you know, sister, I wasn't exactly President of Student Council. I went to three different schools my senior year and I still didn't graduate. Wow. You know you've really got some unexplored issues. I recommend Oprah."

Dean was rewarded with a closed-fist punch this time. He was really getting tired of this 'whatever she was'.

"Who cares what you think. All you need to know is that I'm here to kill you… you and your brother. But, don't take it too personally. I'm only doing my job." She pressed a large knife against his throat before continuing. "Luckily for you, this job came with an unexpected bonus. That means you get a choice that most of my marks don't get. You can go easy or you can go slowly and very painfully. So, one more chance... How can your brother see me? And does it have anything to do with the man with the yellow eyes?"

Dean felt his heart leap into his throat, but he stayed silent. Shit. This bitch had something to do with Yellow Eyes and she was after his brother. Maybe she was another one of 'the kids'? The ones that always seemed to have some freaky superpower and usually turned out to be evil. Except Sam of course, there was no way Sam was going dark side. No way.

"Oooh," the girl rejoiced. "Now we're cookin'. You know something about the yellow-eyed man that visits me in my dreams, don't you? I can tell by the look on your face."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean lied. "Go screw yourself."

"I knew it," she continued, ignoring the insult. "I felt it when I saw him. He's like me. The man told me I'd meet someone special."

Dean forced himself to laugh. There was no way he was telling this thing anything. "Well, aren't you just buckets of crazy," he observed sarcastically.

That might have been a little much, because he felt the knife biting into his flesh. He was pretty sure she'd drawn blood.

"Looks like somebody likes it the hard way," she purred with obvious enjoyment.


Sam had spent about five minutes being frantic after he'd returned to find his brother missing. His mind had first jumped to the cops. They shouldn't be staying in a motel. There was too much heat on them right now. But it was squatting in vacant, unheated houses that had caused Dean to get so sick to begin with. That was why he'd taken the chance and gotten them a room (against his brother's wishes). In any event, it didn't take him long to determine that the cops had nothing to do with this. If it had been the cops, they would've waited around to catch him too.

So, where was Dean? Surely he wasn't stupid enough to go wandering around without a car. His fever hadn't been high enough to make him that delirious and there was nothing nearby anyway. Sam briefly considered his brother's ghost theory, but decided it was ridiculous. There was no evidence for it and the whole story sounded a whole lot like something Dean would make up just to mess with him. A horny, invisible ghost chick… right. That sort of thing only happened in porn. Still, it wouldn't hurt to do another pass with the EMF to be safe.

Then it hit him. The creepy, staring girl had something to do with this. It had to be her. The way she'd acted was just way too fishy to be a coincidence. More importantly, his instinct was telling him he was on to something. There was something about her he couldn't quite place. All he knew was that she made him feel very uneasy. The problem was that she didn't seem to make anyone else uneasy, mostly because he couldn't find a single soul that even remembered seeing her. It didn't make sense. The motel was mostly full and it was broad daylight. It just didn't seem possible that he was the only person who'd seen her. Then again, hunters were more tuned in to their surroundings than most people. The things that slipped by the average person were simply amazing sometimes.

Sam's thoughts were cut-off by a sudden and very intense pain in his head. It was the sort of pain that made him double over in agony, clutching at his temples. It was also the sort of pain that happened right before he was about to get one of his psychic visions.

He flashed on a sign. It was neon and a few of the letters weren't lit up, but he could still see that it read - 'The Pack Rat: Secure Self Storage'. There was also a number – '212'. Then he saw his brother. Dean was on his side, lying on a floor. It looked like his hands were secured behind him and his ankles were tied together with nylon zip ties. His eyes were dilated and he looked very confused, like he was drunk or drugged. He was also bleeding from the nose and mouth. The girl - the one from the parking lot – was kneeling by his head and she had a knife to his throat. She appeared to be looking up at him. Looking him right in the eyes. Her mouth moved like she was talking, but he couldn't hear anything over the roaring in his head. Then, she placed a hand on Dean's forehead, jerked his head back, and slit his throat. The cut was sure and practiced. Blood gushed in a large puddle that spread and spread across the concrete floor…

When Sam came back to himself, he realized he was kneeling on the floor of the motel room. He half-walked/half-crawled to the bathroom and emptied his lunch into the toilet. Then he leaned his back against the tile wall and tried to make sense of the swirling images in his head. The pain was still interfering with his thoughts, but he knew he needed to move. He had to find Dean before it was too late.


Sam crept toward storage unit 212, holding his gun pointed toward the ground as he walked. There was no lock on the unit, but the sliding door was pulled down. He knelt down and grabbed the handle with his left hand and tugged on it with all of his strength. The door rolled up to reveal his brother lying tied on the floor and the girl kneeling by his head. It was exactly like his vision.

She smiled at him like she was happy to see him, then opened her mouth and said, "There you are. I bet you'll be more helpful than your brother. How can you…?"

Sam would never know what she was trying to ask. He would never know anything about her. Not after his bullet hit her between the eyes. When she fell backwards, he stood staring for a long moment. He'd just killed a human. He couldn't believe it. It had just happened. He'd flashed on the vision of Dean getting his throat cut and the next thing he knew, the girl was falling over dead. Finally the sound of his brother's voice broke through the shock and the ringing in his ears.

"I had to kill her," Sam heard himself saying. The sound of his voice was unreal to him. This couldn't be happening. "She was gonna kill you, Dean. I saw it."

"Trust me dude, I'm not arguing. Just get your ass over here and untie me. I think that bitch drugged me. I can't see straight."

Sam unfroze and went to help his brother. First he pulled him a few feet away so the expanding pool of blood from the girl's head didn't touch him. He ended up picking the lock on the cuffs. He couldn't bear the thought of digging through the dead girl's pockets for the keys. He couldn't bear to even look at her.

Dean sat up and rubbed at his raw wrists. There were bruises and cuts all over his face. The girl had obviously beaten him up, but Sam couldn't imagine why.

"You did what you had to do, Sam," his brother said seriously. "She was gonna kill me. You didn't have a choice."

Sam just nodded mutely and continued to kneel beside his brother.

Huh," Dean remarked as he looked over toward the body. "That's what she looks like."


"Nothing," his brother said as he shook his head. "My vision's just starting to clear up is all." He held out a hand. "Help me up Sammy, I'm kinda drunk here."


Sam was still in a state of shock as he drove them out of town. He felt guilty, because Dean had ended up taking control of the situation and he wasn't exactly in the condition to do so. He'd made sure to wipe down any prints they could have left behind and smashed a couple security cameras. After that, they'd gone back to the motel, but only stayed long enough to pack their stuff and hit the road.

"I saw it happen," Sam said after they'd driven a few miles in silence. "Dean, I saw it. She killed you."

"Sam, you have to quit beating yourself up. I believe you. The woman was crazy. You did what you had to do."

"But…" Sam paused, he was afraid to even say what he was thinking.

"But 'what'?"

"It's just that… Dude, you know I only have visions about the other kids… the ones like me. What if? What if she was one of them? That kind of freaks me out, Dean. Cause she was pretty clearly not somebody you'd want to be friends with. Don't you think it's kind of disturbing that the vast majority of these so-called 'special kids' end up going dark side?"

Dean sighed. "She wasn't a 'special kid'," he scoffed. "I don't know who she was. She was just some nutbag with a twisted thing for me. These looks are a curse," he joked, but he grew more serious when he saw his brother wasn't buying his bullshit. "Seriously Sam, I don't know why you had a vision. I'm just glad you did. Quit worrying about it. You and your giant freaky brain overanalyze everything. Why can't we just celebrate the fact that I'm not dead and move the hell on?"

"Fine," Sam agreed reluctantly. "Guess I'll never know."

"That's right. We'll never know, so there's no point getting your panties in a wad."

"You're a jerk, by the way," Sam said with a light laugh.

"How's that?"

"For a minute or two, I actually thought you'd been abducted by a 'horny, invisible ghost chick'."

Dean forced a laugh. "You're gullible, Sammy. Can't believe you bought that."

"Yeah well, laugh it up. Because next town we hit, you're going to the emergency room."

"Pfft… yeah, right."