្.˚⠀━━━⠀⠀AGGRESSION!
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❛ BOHEMIAN ━━ BOOK ONE ❜
𑁍ࠬ¸𓍢 ━━ ❪ SUPERNATURAL ❫ ˖ ୧ 。
𓆸 ┊ ⠀CHAPTER TEN⠀┊ ❀
◟ ✦ LOLLIPOPS AND CANDY CANES. ❞
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  BOWIE SAT IN THE BACK SEAT OF THE Impala with his nose buried in the leather journal he was writing in, knees pulled up for a solid base as he sketched a rough drawing of a fallen airplane and black eyes, putting annotations in the corner with little arrows.

     The brothers were in Toledo, Ohio on a case about a man whose eyes bleed out of his skull, which — in Sam's words — seemed like their kind of gig, so they set off to solve it.

     The hunt for John Winchester grows colder every day, but Bowie was determined to find him. No, not determined, restless to find him. It consumed Bowie. Not because he wanted to see John but because his brothers did.

     The only lead they had was Jerry, who said John's phone started directed anyone who called it to Dean's number instead.

     If the change was recent, he's still alive.

     Which means he can't hide forever.

     Sam was still shaken up about the demon, who knew about Jessica. Dean tried to convince him that demons lie and it was just trying to get under his skin.

     But Bowie didn't agree. It was all too much of a coincidence. Jessica dying the same way as Mom, demons knowing about it. It seemed like the obvious was staring them in the face and they didn't know what.

     Bowie's hearing aids died halfway to Toledo, which means, which great pestering, Dean finally pulled up to a CVS and was getting batteries. All while complaining about the world's lack of chargeable hearing aids. If there were, it's not like Bowie could afford them.

     Dean pulls the car door open, throwing the CVS bag at Bowie before sliding inside quietly, seeing as Sam was taking a nap in the passenger's seat.

     Bowie fumbles not to drop it, "Did you get the–"

     "Yes, I got the little screwdriver thingy," He responds, unraveling a chocolate bar in the front seat.

     Bowie deadpans, "Can you talk to my face until I put the new batteries in?"

     Dean sighed, turning over the bench seat and saying, "Yes, I got the screwdriver."

     Bowie nods, "Thanks." He paused, noticing the aloe patches for the gash on his chest, "Aloe patches?"

     Dean shrugged it off, "I don't want your wound to get infected."

     Sam starts mumbling in his sleep, his body shifting back and forth in the corner as his eyelids moved rapidly back and forth.

     Dean and Bowie share a knowing look.

     "Wake him up gently," Bowie warns him, putting all his attention on not dropping the little screws on the carpet as he replaced the small battery.

     Dean nods, "Aye! Sam, wake up!" He slapped his chest, causing Sam to jump awake. Bowie rolled his eyes.

     "I take it I was having a nightmare?" He questioned breathlessly after a moment of silence.

     "Yeah, another one," Dean emphasized.

     "Hey, at least I got some sleep," Sam says with false optimism.

     "You know, sooner or later, we're gonna have to talk about this."

     Bowie slipped his hearing aids back in, letting out a comfortable sigh of relief before saying, "We're gonna have to talk about this, sooner or later."

     The brothers deadpan.

     Bowie mirrored it, "I'm assuming you already said that."

     Sam changed the subject, "Are we here?"

     "Yep. Welcome to Toledo, Ohio."

     Bowie reads over the newspaper from over Sam's shoulder, "His last name was Shoemaker? That's sad."

     "What do you think really happened to this guy?" Sam questioned.

     What was what they were going to find out.

     Stepping into the morgue, the brothers found their way to the front desk, where a bald man in scrubs looked like he hated his job more than anything.

     Bowie stands between Sam and Dean, his hands shoved in his red jacket pocket as he gave the worker a tight-lipped smile.

     He doesn't return it, "Can I help you?"

     "Yeah, we're the med students," Dean says.

     "I'm sorry?"

     "Oh. Doctor Fliglavitch didn't tell you? We talked to him on the phone. We're from Ohio State, he's supposed to show us the Shoemaker corpse. It's for our paper," Dean continued on with the lie.

     Bowie hummed, impressed.

     "Well, I'm sorry, he's at lunch." The man replied, not actually sounding sorry.

     Bowie sucked in a breath, "Then do you mind showing us the body?"

     "Sorry, I can't. Doc will be back in an hour. You can wait for him if you want." The worker continued.

     "An hour?" Dean winced, "We got to be heading back to Columbus. Look man, this paper is half our grade, so if you don't mind helping us out—"

     "No." He cuts off.

     Dean chuckled, turning to his brothers, "I'm gonna hit him in the face, I swear."

     Bowie shakes his head, "Go for the throat."

     "Both of you, shh." Sam steps forward, pulling out his wallet and unraveling a few twenty-dollar bills, dropping it on the table.

     The worker hummed, taking the cash, "Follow me."

     Dean groaned, "Dude, I earned that money!"

     "You won it in a power game," Sam responds.

     "Uh, yeah!"

-

THEY HAD LEARNED AT THE MORGUE THAT the victim's eyes weren't just bleeding, they were practically liquefied. With another wad of cash from Sam, they had gotten their hands on the police report, which didn't give them much else on what they already knew.

     So, with nothing on record, they went to the Wake.

     "I feel like an asshole coming to someone's wake that I don't even know," Bowie muttered to Sam.

     The youngest sighed, "Just try to blend in."

     "Feel like we're underdressed," Dean adds in, motioning to the black and white clothing everyone else was wearing.

     They walked deeper into the house, looking for the victim's daughter who--according to the reports--had been the person to find her father.

     She was in the backyard, sitting on a bench in all black, surrounded by her friends who tried their best to comfort her.

     Bowie traded spots with Sam when he noticed a young blonde staring at him suggestively, biting her lip.

     "You must be Donna," says Dean.

     She looked confused, "Yeah."

     "I'm Bowie, this is Sam, and Dean," He introduced them, "We worked with your dad."

     "You did?" She pressed, not really believing them.

     "Yeah. This whole thing, I mean, a stroke." Dean shook his head, faking sadness.

     Donna looks away.

     "I don't think she wants to talk about this right now," Her friend speaks up, her face firm and her voice nasally. Instantly making Bowie annoyed about her presence.

     "It's okay, I'm okay." Donna waved off.

     "Were there ever any symptoms?" Dean continues, "Dizziness or migraines?"

     "No."

     "That's because it wasn't a stroke," Her little sister spoke up.

     "Lily, don't say that." Donna scolds.

     "What?" Sam pressed.

     Donna waved it off, "No, I'm sorry, she's just upset."

     "No, it happened because of me." Lily insisted.

     "Sweetie, it didn't."

     Bowie frowned, kneeling down slightly to level with Lily, "What do you think happened?" He asked softly, not wanting to invalidate her feelings.

     The child looked thankful that someone was taking her seriously, "Right before he died, I said it. Bloody Mary, three times in the bathroom mirror."

     Bowie looked quickly at his brothers, who both shared a similar expression. Great, they're working with a childhood ghost story.

     "She takes their eyes, it's what she does." Lily finished.

     "That's not why dad died, this isn't your fault," Donna says.

     "She's right, Lily." Bowie says, "You know, I lost my parent, too. I blamed myself for years, but I learn over time that it wasn't my fault. . .just like it isn't yours. Okay?" He explains, causing Lily to nod in agreement.

     Donna appeared grateful.

     "Besides," Dean spoke up, "It couldn't have been Bloody Mary. It's not like your dad said it, right?"

     Lily shook her head, "No, I don't think so."

     "Thank you for your time," Sam says, giving them a small smile, "We should get going."

     Bowie stood up taller, nodding to them.

The brothers had left, sneaking their way up the staircase and toward the bathroom.

     There was still blood unscrubbed on the ground, and Bowie awkwardly stepped over it and toward the mirror.

     "The bloody Mary legend. Dad ever find any evidence that it was a real thing?" Sam asked his brothers.

     "Not that I know of," Dean replies.

     "I mean, everywhere else, all over the country, kids will play blood mary and as far as we know, nobody dies from it." Sam continues.

     "Could be the location we're in or the family's history," Bowie debunks, scanning the bathroom, "Everywhere else, it could be just a story."

     "Like, this is the place where the legend began?" Sam assumed.

     The middle sibling shrugged, "I wouldn't say it began in a two-story suburban house, but sure."

     Sam frowned, "But according to the legend, the person who says—"

     Dean moves the cabinet mirror in front of Sam, causing the youngest to slam it away from him.

     "The person who says you know what gets it," He finished, "But here. . ."

     "Shoemaker gets it instead, yeah." Dean agrees, "Never heard anything like that before. Still, the guy did die right in front of the mirror."

     Bowie nods, "And Lily was right, the way the legend goes, Bloody Mary takes your eyes."

      Dean reels back, "Dude, don't say it in front of the mirror!" He scolded, putting his hand on the mirror where Bowie's face was.

     He rolled his eyes, "You have to say it three times."

     "It's worth checking into," Sam says.

     The sound of clicking heels made the brothers pause. They try to scramble out of the room but the girl from earlier was standing in front of them, her arms crossed over her chest.

     She was the one who spoke up for Donna, her name was Charlie and she didn't look happy.

     "What are you doing up here?" She accused, her nasal tone giving Bowie a headache.

     "We. . .had to go to the bathroom," Dean responds.

     She raised an eyebrow, "Together?"

     "I, uh," Bowie speaks up, "Have bathroomphobia, can't go alone."

     "Who are you?" She pressed.

     Bowie clenched his jaw.

     Sam frowned, noticing how impatient his brother seemed nowadays, ever since the case with the plane last week. Where Bowie also acted impatient and rude.

     There was something about hunting that made Bowie very aggressive. Something that Sam and Dean couldn't place.

      When they were teenagers, training to hunt monsters with John, the man was always forceful with Bowie. He trained him privately, which always made Dean upset but it wasn't like he could say anything against it.

     And when it came to the real deal? When it came to killing the things that went bump in the night?

     Bowie was a ruthless killer.

     Sam and Dean didn't know what John had done during those training sessions but tracking wasn't the only thing Bowie was good at.

     John trained him as a Marine, just like him. A soldier.

     That was what Katherine meant, wasn't it?

     We both know what happens when things get too much and trigger you.

     She meant his family, yes, but it was more than that.

     She meant hunting.

     Sam could tell that the work was getting to Bowie. Putting him back in that ruthless mindset that Bowie had spent six years shaking away. He was becoming impatient, timid, snappy.

     "Like we said downstairs, we worked with Donna's dad," Dean continued calmly.

     "He was a day trader or something, he worked by himself," Charlie pressed.

     Dean backtracks, "No, I know, I meant—"

     "And all those weird questions downstairs, what was that?" She looked between the brothers, smug that she caught on to them.

     The brothers didn't respond.

     "So you tell me what's going on or I start screaming." Charlie crossed her arms over her chest.

     Bowie tilts his head, glancing her over with a clenched jaw. She stepped back a little, he was taller than her and a lot more imitating. A lot different than how kind he was downstairs.

     "You think you're brave coming up here cornering three grown men? With something as childish as threatening to scream?" He asked lowly, "Maybe I should ask what you're doing up here alone without your little friend. Seems a lot more suspicious than us being up here, doesn't it?"

     She swallowed thickly.

     "We think something happened to Donna's dad, we're trying to help, not that it's any of your business." He snapped slightly.

     She nods, "S-Sorry. . ." She backtracks, "What are you, cops?"

     "Something like that," Dean replies, pulling Bowie back.

     Sam pulls out a card with his number, "Tell you what, here," She takes it, "If you think of anything, you or your friends notice anything strange, out of the ordinary, just give us a call."

     "Okay, I will."

     "What was that?" Dean asked Bowie as they walked back to the car.

     "What was what?" He dismissed.

     "You totally snapped at her," Dean responds.

     "She was threatening us, and getting on my nerves." Bowie huffed.

     "Yeah, because she was looking out for her friend," Sam added in, "You know, you were acting like this on that plane, too."

     Bowie stopped mid-step, closing his eyes to gather himself, "We don't have time to sugar code everything for people who don't understand what we do," He tells them, "People are dying, we have to stop it. The longer we wait, the less we spend on finding John."

     "Since when did you care so much about finding Dad?" Dean asked him.

     Bowie steps toward him, "I'm sorry, was that not what you knocked on my door for at three in the morning? To find John? We're this deep, you can't blame me for wanting to get this shit over with."

     "Why?" Dean pressed, "So, you can leave us again?"

     It wasn't meant to be a jab. It was a genuine question. Dean didn't want Bowie to leave after they find John.

     But it was obvious that Bowie and John being in the same room would be a disaster. It was a conflicting situation that left them all stumped.

     Bowie doesn't answer him.

     "We'll find him, it just takes time. Just like you said," Sam frowned, "I think you're letting this get to your head. You know, we're just worried about you—"

     "We'll don't. I'm perfectly fine," Was the last thing Bowie said before getting in the back seat and slamming the door.

-

"All right, so say Bloody Mary really is haunting this town. There's gotta be some sort of proof, right?" Dean asked.

     The brothers walked into the local library, ready to look through as many files and newspaper articles the town had.

     "It's hard to have proof when everyone who spotted her is dead," Bowie responds.

     "Yeah, but, there's always something. Like, a local woman who died nasty."

     "Yeah but a legend this widespread, it's hard," Sam sighed, "I mean 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."

     "Alright, so what are we supposed to be looking for?" Dean asked them.

     Bowie shrugged, "Every twisted version of a story always has something in common. Always a woman named Mary and she always dies in front of a mirror," He smirked to himself, "Talk about self-love."

     "So, we gotta search local newspapers, public records as far back as they go, see if we can find a Mary who fits the bill," Sam explains.

     "Well, that sounds annoying," replies Dean.

     "No, it won't be so bad, as long as we--"

     Bowie motions to the out-of-order computers.

     "Okay, I take it back. This will be very annoying," Sam corrects.

     They took the books back to their motel, where they scoured for any sign of Bloody Mary.

     "He's gonna kill you for letting him fall asleep," Dean says, looking up from one of the books.

     Sam was sleeping on one of the beds, turned away from the pair.

     Bowie sat across the table, frowning, "He needs sleep."

     "Not if those dreams are terrorizing him like that," He responds.

     "Well, he's been up for days," said Bowie defensively.

     "Yeah, I know, but he won't take the melatonin. There's nothing we can do about it," Dean flipped another page.

     Bowie leaned back a little, looking nonchalant, "That's why I put one in his drink."

     Dean froze, "Bowie, he's not six anymore, you can't do that!"

     "Would you rather him drop unconscious mid-hunt and get himself killed?" Bowie snapped a little, "He needs rest, whether he wants it or not."

     "I'm telling him you drugged him," He says simply.

     Bowie shrugged, "Go ahead, at least he'll yell at me with five hours of sleep."

     Sam gasped awake, sweating. Another nightmare. His eyes were glazed over with tears, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath.

     "Why'd you let me fall asleep?" Sam asked softly, swallowing down tears.

     Dean gave Bowie a look, "Because we're awesome brothers."

     Bowie looked away.

     He sighed, "So, what did you dream about?"

     "Lollipops and candy canes," Sam answered monotonously.

     Dean scoffed, "Yeah, sure."

     "You guys find anything?" Sam asked, turning his head to face them.

     "Just a whole lot of nothing," Bowie sighed, closing his book.

     "We looked at everything," Dean nods, "A few local women, a Laura and a Catherine committed suicide in front of a mirror–"

     "Don't forget that guy named Dave, a giant mirror fell on him." Bowie cuts in, causing Dean to point in his direction.

     "Yep, Dave, poor Dave." Dean agreed, "But, no Mary."

     Sam flopped back down on the bed, "Maybe we just haven't found it yet."

     "We've also been searching for strange deaths in the area, eyeball bleeding and such, but there's nothing," Bowie reports.

     Dean frowned, "Well, maybe whatever's happening here, just ain't Mary."

     Sam's cellphone rings, and with a call from Charlie the brothers planned to meet up with the teenager at a local park.

     She was in hysteria when the brothers saw her, sitting on the park bench.

     She told them that her friend Jill died last night, saying that she said the words that little Lily had said the night her father died.

     She believed them.

     So they asked for her help.

     Bowie pressed his back up against the side of Jill's house, waiting for Charlie to open the window. Dean flinched a little when Charlie popped her head out, causing Bowie to chuckle.

     "What did you tell Jill's mom?" Sam asked her, unpacking the duffle bag on the bed.

     "I just told her I needed some time alone with Jill's pictures," Charlie responds, tugging at her hair nervously.

     Bowie hummed, closing the curtains, "Good lie."

     She smiled a little.

     Charlie was still slightly scared of the man, and he didn't blame her. But he wasn't going to apologize either.

     "I hate lying to her," She admits.

     "Trust us, it's for the greater good." Dean responds, "Hit the lights."

     She does.

     "Aye," Bowie tells them suddenly, "Keep light on your feet, these floors are creaking like crazy."

     Charlie frowned, "They are?"

     Sam sighed, "Don't question it."

     "What are you guys looking for?"

     "We'll let you know as soon as we find it," Dean says.

     "Hey, night vision," Sam asked, holding the camera up to Bowie. The man flicked the setting on, "Thanks."

     "Do I look like Paris Hilton?" Dean asked, moving his ass next to the camera.

     Bowie rolled his eyes, grinning.

     Sam opened the closet, scanning the mirror through the night vision setting. Bowie crouched down, scanning the ground.

     "So, I don't get it," Sam began, "I mean, the first victim didn't summon Mary, and the second victim did. How's she choosing them?"

     "Beats me," Dean responds, using his E.M.F to scan the area, "I wanna know why Jill said it in the first place."

     Charlie shifts, "It was just a joke."

     "Yeah, well jokes kill." Bowie responds timidly, "Somebody's bound to say it again."

     She bowed her head.

     "Hey," Bowie announced, "I got something."

     Dean and Charlie lean over him a little, watching as he rubbed a small, barely noticeable spot on the rug where Jill's blood was spilled.

     "Sam, check the bathroom." Bowie orders.

     He finds something, "Hey, there's a black light in the trunk, right?"

     They found a handprint hidden behind the mirror. Along with a name written in what looked like blood. Gary Bryman.

     It wasn't until later did Sam find out Gray Bryman was a victim of a hit and run. He was eight years old and the whole story made Bowie physically sick. No one deserved to die that young.

     They also learned that Jill was the one who hit him, which made Bowie frown even more.

     They needed to go back to Donna's house.

     "Linda Shoemaker."

     The brothers shared matching expressions, the black light revealing the name of Donna's mother, the victim's husband.

     Charlie was kind enough to get Donna to talk to them again, but she didn't look nearly as willing to speak as she did at her father's wake.

     "Why are you asking me all this?"

     "Look, we're sorry, but it's important." Sam insisted.

     Donna's eyes narrowed, "Yeah, Linda was my mom, okay? She overdosed on sleeping pills. It was an accident, and that's it."

     Bowie sighed.

     "I think you should leave."

     "Donna, just listen–"

     "Get out of my house!" She walked out of the living room.

     "She tells us to leave and then leaves," Bowie grumbled.

     "Oh, my god. Do you really think her dad could've killed her mom?" Charlie asked in horror.

     Sam sighed, "Maybe."

     "I think I should stick around," She tells them.

     Bowie nods, giving her shoulder a small squeeze, "Whatever you do–"

     "Trust me. I won't say it."

-

THE LIGHT TURNING INTO DARK WITHIN THE NEXT HOUR. The brothers had gone back to their motel, deciding to take a different approach in the case. Bowie laid on his stomach on the ground, clicking away at a spare keyboard that Charlie had lent him.

     "Wait, wait, wait," Sam says suddenly, "You guys are doing a nationwide search?"

     "Yep," Dean says.

    "Do you guys even know how to do that?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

     "Nope," Bowie chimed, "I just like the feeling of clicking the keys until something pops up." He admits, "Makes me feel like Penelope Garcia."

     "The NCIC, the FBI database. Any Mary in the country who died in front of a mirror is good enough for me." Dean nods.

     "But if she's haunting the town, then she should've died in the town." Sam frowns.

     "Not exactly," Bowie shakes his head, "When someone dies, there are cases where spirits could be tethered to something. In this case, it's a mirror, and people can buy mirrors from across the world."

     "Great," Sam sighed.

     "Yeah, and I've checked everything local, so unless you have a better idea."

     Sam shook his head at Dean, "The way Mary is choosing her victims. . it seems like there's a pattern."

     "Was thinkin' the same thing," Dean hummed.

     "With Mr. Shoemaker, and Jill's hit and run–"

     "They both had secrets," Bowie says firmly, "They were both involved with a murder. Maybe Mary is getting revenge for the real victims."

     "Right. . ." Sam trailed in thought, "There's a lot of folklore about mirrors, that they reveal your lies, your secrets, that they're a true reflection of your soul, which is why it's bad luck to break them."

     "Guess we should air out some secrets then," Bowie smirked, raising his hand lazily from the ground, "I'll go first. Remember when Madonna released Vouge? I saw Dean dancing to it once–"

     Dean's face turns dark red, "No I fucking didn't!" He slams his foot into Bowie's stomach on the ground.

     He rolled over in pain, "Okay, fine, it was me. I know the whole dance–"

     "Anyways," Dean rolled his eyes, "If you have a secret, like a really nasty one where someone died, then Mary sees it and punishes you for it."

     "Whether you summoned her or not," Sam realized.

     "Take a load of this," Dean prints out multiple newspaper clips and photos, handing them out.

     It was a gruesome murder that involved a woman named Mary Worthington, who died in her own apartment. There was the same handprint on the mirror, and Bowie was first to notice the small letters written in blood near the print.

     It was an unsolved murder in Indiana.

     So, the brothers hit the road in hopes to find something that connected the murders together.

     There, they met a man who was a Detective all those years ago. The brothers claimed that they were reporters, and the ex-Detective was willing to talk about what he believed happened to Mary.

     As Bowie guessed, it wasn't pretty.

     Mary was involved in an affair with a man named Trevor Sampson, a surgeon that the Detective believed cut her eyes out.

     It made sense to Bowie. A woman in love with a man. Things get serious and Mary threatens to snitch to his wife, a toxic ego makes men do crazy things. The cut in Mary's eyes was clean and there was no sign of forced entry in her apartment, which Bowie knew she must've let her inside.

     In other words, the male species continued to disappoint him.

     "She was trying to expose his secret, but she never could, so she went after people who had secrets like Trevors and killed them!" Bowie says from the backseat, thumping a pen on his knee at the thought, "He died a free man! I'd be pissed too."

     "The mirror was in the family for years," Sam adds in, "Until he sold it one week ago. To a store called estate antiques, a store in Toledo."

     Bowie threw the pen, "It all comes together!"

     "How many energy drinks have you had?" Dean asked in annoyance.

     "Many."

     He shakes his head, "So, wherever the mirror goes, that's where Mary goes?"

     "Her spirit is definitely tied with it."

     "Isn't there an old superstition that says mirrors can capture spirits?" Dean asked.

     Bowie nods instantly, "Back in the day, when someone died people would cover up the mirrors so the ghost wouldn't get trapped."

     "So, Mary dies in front of her mirror and it draws in her spirit," Dean concludes.

     Sam still didn't look convinced, "Yeah, but how could she move through 100 different mirrors?"

     "I don't know, but if the mirror is the source. I say we find it and smash it," Dean shrugged.

     "Yeah, I don't know, maybe."

     Sam's phone rings again, and it puts it on speaker.

     Bowie's heart drops a little, hearing Charlie's sobs on the other end.

     "She's coming for me."

[ and so the sheet unravels. . .]
please comments, helps with motivation
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