SEASON 1, EPISODE 22

Mara was the crystalline image of death.

As she lay, her body trapped in tangles of spray-painted, criss-crossed lines, her porcelain skin began to sag more with each passing minute. Her collarbone protruded from her chest, shaking with each shallow breath she took. Her comatose state was replacing her striking beauty with something that demanded sorrow - a sickness that begged for sympathy and an illness that stole the life from her very figure. And with every ounce of strength that was seeping through the pores of her skin, a sliver of monstrosity crept in. She had as much contact with humanity as a dead person could. The only beam of human essence she could feel was the one inside her, and even that was beginning to fade, as she was no longer connected to the item that had placed it there.

The Winchesters had forsaken her. But it was what she deserved, after she sided with the warriors of hell. Though it was not voluntary on her behalf, when it came to matters of family, involuntary deeds meant just as much.

Stripes of bright, white light ricocheted against Mara's eyes. She blinked. One, two, three times, until her eyes began to focus and the light was replaced with a hazy silhouette of a girl. The girl had a rock in her hand, and she was scratching at the floor near Mara's head. A lock of dark hair fell from behind her ear, her curls bouncing as her shoulders moved furiously in cooperation with her hand, and Mara's eyes widened. She recognized the girl with the rock.

"Katarina," Mara breathed. "Kat. What are you-"

She slid her elbows beneath her and pushed up, but the dizziness that washed over her was too much. She collapsed, her golden, tangled hair fanning out around her fallen head.

"Dean didn't mean it," Kat muttered, the rock in her hand fervently scraping away the lines of the reaper's trap. "He didn't know a trap would do that to you. He didn't know it would put you in a coma, he just thought it would keep you still. Sort of like a demon's trap."

A rush of wind escaped Kat's lips as she blew at the flakes of paint she'd just scraped. She leaned back on her folded legs, and Mara tried to read her face - to see why she was helping her, why she was going against her brother's orders and releasing her from the trap - but her vision was still too blurry. She could hardly decipher between the eyelashes on Kat's face and the eyes that rested beneath them, much less figure out what the girl was thinking.

Kat reached a hand out towards Mara. "Come on. We have to hurry before Bobby comes back, and Sam and Dean are gonna get suspicious if I don't get out there soon."

Mara placed her hand in Kat's. With a tug, Kat helped Mara rise to her stumbling feet, and Mara grimaced at the pounding in her skull. It was like a symphony of drums were beating staccatos into the linings of her brain, crashing cymbals and tambourines against her temples in hopes of creating a steady beat. Unfortunately for the reaper, it was a rhythm that caused her to recoil in pain.

Mara fought against the jarring knife in her skull, ignoring the boisterous distraction as she muttered, "I can't go with you."

"Why not?"

A soft moan escaped Mara's lips. Her hands shot up to her forehead, fingers clawing at her skin as if that would help to ease the pain. When she spoke, her voice sounded more similar to a frog's than to a human's. "I'm in no shape to follow you guys. I can barely stand up straight. Go on without me, I'll catch up to you guys as soon as I can."

A frown creased the space between Kat's brows. "If you say so."

Mara's arms flung out to the side in an attempt to find the nearest wall. Her knuckles slapped against the wall with jolting force, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. She was too weary, too desperate for relief to be concerned with the blood that was trickling from her pale skin. She collapsed against the plaster wall. Its grimy, bumpy surface was the only thing keeping her on her feet, and she could hardly find the strength to raise her head when Kat spoke from her place in the doorway.

When had she moved? Was Mara so out of it that her senses couldn't even comprehend motion as slow as walking?

"Mara?" Kat's voice rang, a warble contorting her soprano song.

The reaper's lips parted. A strangled grunt fled from between them in response, her larynx unable to emanate much else.

The silhouette in the doorway shifted, and Mara wasn't sure if it was post-comatose delusions or reality, but the aura of sunlight that surrounded it seemed angelic. Kat ran her tongue along the front of her teeth before she gently pleaded, "I know you're...not at your best right now, but hurry. We can't do this without you."

◈◈◈

Mara had hurried. She'd hurried as much as she was able to, in the state Kat had left her in. And yet, somewhere between her yelps of pain and desperate stumbles towards the front door of Bobby's house, it didn't seem like her attempts had been enough.

In fact, she knew they hadn't been enough, because she was staring at John Winchester. John Winchester, who should have been as good as dead, was conversing with his children as if their reunion had long since passed, and Meg was nowhere to be seen. By the time she'd managed to track the Winchesters through the mists of the In-Between, she'd missed hours of important happenings in the world of the hunters and demons she was so concerned with.

A frustrated huff shot from Mara's nostrils. Hadn't the trap's coma stolen enough? It had already created an abundance of gaps in her stream of consciousness, with the unanswered questions of where Meg had disappeared to and why the Winchesters - save for Kat - had left Mara in an unconscious lump on the floor. Now, the coma had created yet another gap: when had the Winchesters found their dad? And what happened to Meg's ruby ring?

Before Mara got a chance to try to comprehend the Winchesters' conversation - to use her invisibility to her advantage, because she wouldn't be able to appear without the Winchesters trying to save a knife down her throat - lights began flickering. Despite their being in a secluded, indoor cabin, the wind in the room began to pick up. Mara's hair whipped against her face in stringy tendrils, and she tried not to let her eyes drift to the hairs on the back of Dean's neck. They were standing upright, a telltale sign that something was wrong. Perhaps the cabin wasn't as secluded as they'd originally thought.

The Winchesters all rushed to the nearest window, their attuned eyes flicking over every inch of the yard beyond the glass. Their shoulders tightened in unison.

"It found us," John grunted. His voice was tightly strung with a mixture of exhaustion and apprehension. "It's here."

Sam and John began exchanging commands and reports with one another like it was second nature. Which, Mara supposed, it was. After all the years they'd spent trailing the demon that was now at their front door, they couldn't afford for communication to be anything less than second nature.

"Dean, you got the gun?" John snapped, dark eyes boring into his son's bright ones.

Dean nodded bluntly. "Yeah."

"Give it to me."

John was still facing the window, but his arm was stretched towards Dean, his fingers curled, expectant, and waiting for that which he thought was owed to him. Dean pulled the Colt out from beneath the waistband of his jeans, but Kat stepped forward, halting her brother's movements.

Mara rose an eyebrow. What did she think she was doing? If the demon was here, now, then John needed the Colt. This was the battle to end them all.

"Dad," Kat began, her voice uncharacteristically tinged with apprehensive motifs, as if she was frightened of the response her words would reap. "Sam tried to shoot the demon in Salvation, but he missed. The demon disappeared."

Mara's eyebrows shot to the top of her forehead. This was the first time she was hearing of an attempted shot at Azazel - had she really been away from the Winchesters that long?

John shook his head, a motion that suggested Kat's comments were a waste of his time. "This is me. I won't miss." His fiery gaze started to burn into his son's figure once more. "Now, the gun, hurry."

But Dean's features no longer shone of compliance and obedience. His gaze lazily drifted down to the rusted gun in his hands, a line of hesitance decorating the curves of his face. Mara was certain that if she was on the other side of Dean's skeptical gaze, she would be fidgeting a lot more than John was. Dean's expression was one that lingered on the border of reluctance and fury, and it was a dangerous border to reside upon.

"Son, please," John quipped.

Dean gulped, and the muscles in his jaw clenched. He took a few steps back. Mara leapt to the side. He'd almost backed up into her, and though she'd been invisible, Dean would doubtless recognize the unnatural chill her presence would provide.

"Give me the gun! What are you doing, Dean?"

John's cries were frantic and harsh. They were words that pulled at the eldest Winchester, hoping to bring him back to their speaker's side, but Dean's frown was already too trepidation. His glare was already sending tremors of tension throughout the room, tremors that belched harmonies of his distrust towards his father.

"He'd be furious," Dean said.

John's jaw grew slack with appalled astonishment, because how dare one of his children say no to him? "What?"

"That I wasted a bullet," Dean explained, his brows knitted together and his lips almost neglecting to part as he spat his grievances. "He wouldn't be proud of me, he'd tear me a new one."

The next few moments unfurled in slow motion. Dean's arm rose. His nostrils flared, his mouth downturned in a grimace. He aimed the barrel - the narrow, lethal barrel - of the Colt at his father, ignoring Kat's shouts of objection as he growled, "You're not my Dad." His thumb twitched, and suddenly the gun was cocked. Ready to fire.

Mara's heart stopped in her chest. He was ready and able to shoot a bullet into his father's skull. He was seconds away from watching as the copper tore through his skin, ripping vessels and veins apart, shredding through tissue and bone as it lodged itself in John's brain. And not a single tear rested in the linings of his eyes. He was terrifying.

Dean's throat was quivering beneath his skin, and all of a sudden, John's identity became crystal clear. It was like curtains were being peeled away, like blinders were finally being removed from Mara's eyes, because even as John said "Dean, it's me", he wasn't. John Winchester was no hunter. He was no human. John Winchester was Azazel, a knight of hell and the bane of the real John Winchester's existence.

Mara could see it now. She'd been away from the In-Between - and away from death - for so long that her abilities had begun to leave her, but she could see it now. Azazel's face. It lied beneath John's human features, making John's skin seem like the futile mask of a Halloween costume. He was hideous. His teeth were sharp and gnarled, his eyes a sickly and glistening yellow, and his expression was one that sent chills down Mara's spine.

"Dean, what are you doing?" Kat asked, but her voice came out as more of a shriek than anything.

Dean ignored her, his thoughts focused solely on the demon that stood before him. He snarled threats at it, but even as he demanded for Azazel to admit to his presence, Mara realized that he couldn't be sure of his dad's true identity. He couldn't see past the disguises of the supernatural like she could. What if he wavered? What if Azazel used John's skin to convince Dean that he really was who he pretended to be? Mara couldn't let that happen.

So she shed her invisibility.

"Dean, shoot him," she ordered.

All eyes in the room turned to her. Dean's eyes bulged, and he jumped back, the Colt in his hand now pointed at the reaper in the room.

"How did you get here?" he demanded, the frown on his face telling Mara that he was wrestling with the threatening warble in his voice.

Mara shook her head. How she found them wasn't important right now. What was important was that his gun should be pointed at John, not at her. Especially not when her intentions were to help. Her words grew louder and more authoritative when she next spoke. "It's the demon, I can see him. Just shoot."

Dean's aim shifted back to John, but his hands were shaking. He was unsure of himself. It was unlike Dean to be so cautious, so timid in the face of a life or death situation. But his atypicality was understandable when considering the emotions he was facing. He had a life-changing decision to make. Shoot his dad, who may or may not be a demon, but who was certainly the man who'd been there for him his entire life. Shoot his ex-friend who, if Mara's hopes weren't too outlandish, meant more to him than just a friend. Or he put the Colt away and risk not shooting anyone.

"How do I know I can trust you?" Dean finally asked.

At any other time, Mara would have been hurt by this comment. But now, after everything they'd been through, he had reason not to trust her.

Alas, there was no time to argue her case. She lifted a hand in the air, and with one, deliberate twitch of her fingers, she willed the Colt out of Dean's hand and into her own.

"Fine," she announced. "I'll do it myself."

Just as she was about to end it all, to complete all the Winchesters had been fighting for with a single movement, Sam stormed into the room. Mara was surprised he hadn't come earlier, with all the shouting and arguing that had been going on. He wrestled the Colt out of the reaper's grasp and, in turn, Dean wrestled it out of his.

Mara almost screamed with rage - why wouldn't they just listen to her? - but she opted to throw her hands up instead. "Dean, listen to me! You have to know it's true. You thought it yourself, didn't you?"

Dean nodded, his slow head-bobbing gradually becoming quicker as he pointed the Colt at John once more. His determination was returning. "He's possessed," Dean spoke, and he sounded strangled and wrought with tumultuous emotion. "He's been possessed since we rescued him."

"Don't listen to him, Sammy," John uttered, but Sam wasn't listening to him anymore.

Dean's line of sight trailed over the top of the pistol in his hand, his eyes never wavering from their target. He was the perfect example of a hunter, even when he was hunting his own. "He's..." He paused, choking down the tears that threatened to spring from his eyes. "He's different."

Mara wanted to step back. She wanted to run and hide in the corner of the room, but her feet wouldn't let her. She didn't feel right bearing witness to this, now that Dean was on the brink of tears. It felt too raw, too personal. Too distant from the inhumane nature of her soul.

John jerked his head in frustration. "You know, we don't have time for this. Sam, you wanna kill this demon, you've gotta trust me."

Sam and Dean exchanged a knowing glance. Then, Sam looked to Kat. And finally, his wandering gaze landed on Mara.

"Sam?" John broke the silence. "Kat?"

"No," Sam breathed, his eyes wide with shock and revelation. These were the sort of moments that would define him, that would live in the back of his mind forever, and the look on his face told the world that he realized it. How awful it must be, to recognize trauma while it was happening and when it was too late to do anything about it.

Sam walked over to stand beside Kat, Dean, and Mara. John watched them, but Mara couldn't help but think there was something curious about the way he was doing it. He should've been displaying more despair. More submission, at least, than a simple bending of his head. His children were siding with a reaper over him. The only family he had left was ready to kill him. It was then that Mara knew without a shadow of a doubt that her glimpse of Azazel was no delusion. John Winchester really was gone.

"Fine," he chuckled cruelly. "You're all so sure, go ahead. Kill me."

A blanket of silent rigidity fell over the room like a cover on a bed, fully enclosing everything beneath it and refusing to let go. Dean's finger rested on the trigger, but it wasn't moving. This was his chance to end it all, and he wasn't taking it. Mara frowned. What was his problem?

"I thought so,"John mused, and when Mara looked back at him, he was no longer John. His eyes were yellow. He was Azazel, bold and clear for the whole world to see.

Sam lunged at Azazel, but he didn't make it far. He was thrown against the wall, and the crack his head made as it hit the wooden panels made Mara wince.

She rolled her shoulders. Now, it was her turn. After all the hell she'd been put through, after all the sin he'd made her commit, she would finally have her chance at revenge.

Even so, Azazel was one step ahead. He flung her against the wall opposite Sam, and suddenly, she couldn't breathe. She could feel her lungs constricting, her throat tightening, and she clawed at her neck, at the invisible hands that were choking her to unconsciousness. She whimpered. Not again. She couldn't pass out again.

It was too late. The moment that thought escaped her lips, she was gone. Spiraling into an endless black sea of her own thoughts, rendered helpless as the Winchesters were left to fight their demon alone.

◈◈◈

When Mara woke up next, it was with the smell of furniture polish flooding her nostrils. She peeled her eyes open. The Impala. She knew she recognized that smell.

Sam was in the driver's seat, with John occupying the seat Dean liked to refer to as "shotgun". Mara was in the center spot of the backseat, and Dean and Kat sat on either side of her.

Kat was leaning on the headrest behind her. Bruises decorated the entirety of her face, from her eyelids to her the curve of her lips, and her chest shook when she breathed. With one glance at Dean, it was obvious that he wasn't doing much better. Blood was trickling out the side of his mouth, a crimson river against the pale soil of his skin, and his shoulders were slumped against the door. His forehead rested against the cool, glass window.

"No!" Mara shouted. Not in despair at the state of her friends, though that was an emotion that was coursing through her veins, but at the fact that she could've helped them, if only Azazel hadn't gotten a hold of her first. If she hadn't been so weak, so helpless, then maybe Dean and Kat wouldn't be hurt so badly.

"Mara," Dean groaned. He looked at her out of the side of his eyes, and his fingers crawled over to where her leg rested against the seat. It reminded Mara of a spider, the way his fingers moved, and she was sure his intentions were not so different from if he'd just been bitten by one.

If he wasn't so close to death, she was certain he would be proclaiming his hatred towards her. After all, it was just that day that he'd put her in a reaper's trap. Nonetheless, she wrapped her fingers around his.

It was a sensation like no other. The intimacy of holding hands with someone, of having your fingers wrapped around theirs, was even greater than a hug from Dean had been, if that was possible. And the smile that crept its way onto Dean's lips...it made her want to hold his hands forever.

She prayed that she would be able to. Dean could hardly keep his eyes open, could hardly keep his lungs expanding in their natural rhythm. And, no matter how badly she wanted to protect him from all the dangers in the world, something told Mara more pain was coming his way.

Seconds later, she was proven to be right.

It happened just like in the movies. Shards of glass spraying inward and collapsing on the Impala's passengers, John and Sam's neck jerking dangerously to one side, the Impala flipping over and over in an interminable journey to the side of the road - it was all so surreal. Within seconds, the Winchesters' lives were that much closer to extinction. And it was because of a semi truck. Of something so insignificant in the grand scheme of all that truly mattered.

Dean's fingers were torn from Mara's grasp, and her breath hitched in her throat. She was losing him. She could feel it. She was losing her anchor, the only thing that kept her from being like every other reaper who'd ever walked the earth. With every gasping, stuttering breath Dean took, with every drop of blood he lost, Mara was losing her humanity, because her humanity was him. Her home.

"What do they do in the movies?" Mara cried to herself, unable to keep the sob in her throat from breaking out of its chains. She'd only ever seen this happen in movies, and in the films that Dean often watched on his laptop.

The thought of the green-eyed Winchester made her wailing heighten. For the second time in her life, she watched as he tears fell around her. The Impala was upside down, so gravity pulled her saline drops of anguish to the felt ceiling. She stared, impotent, as her tears soiled the ceiling below her.

Dean's burner phone was there, too. Her tears glistened atop its cracked screen, shimmering in the moonlight that shone through the shattered car windows.

Mara gasped. That's what they did in the movies.

She arched her back, her arms reaching, her fingers stretching as she yearned to hold Dean's phone. The metal was cool against her fingertips, and she wrapped her hand around it tightly. She flipped the phone open.

The phone's insides were a matrix of distortion and puzzles. Green and red symbols alike littered every inch of the item. Mara didn't recognize half of the buttons on the phone's screen, but luckily, she'd seen enough of Dean's movies to recognize one: 9-1-1.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Wow. Honestly, I never thought this day would come, but here it is: the end of Act One. To all of you who have supported the story this far: thank you so much! I appreciate each and every read, vote, and comment, and it makes me beyond happy to see that people love Mara as much as I do.

As for Act Two...stay tuned, because it's not too far away! So much more is coming for Mara and Dean that I can't wait to share with you all. In the meantime, I have a Sam Winchester fic posted on my account! It will go hand-in-hand with 'Wanted Dead Or Alive' and the OC from that story, Bellona Wesson, will be introduced here in Act Two! If you want to know more about he background of her character, then her story('Knocking On Heaven's Door) would be a good place to start!

Again, I am so endlessly grateful for the support I've received on this story so far! Thank you!