Chapter Text
Maya played hopscotch in front of her big, Victorian-style house. She hummed a nursery rhyme to herself as she jumped over the small rock in the “5” section. The multi-colored chalky outline of the game was starting to fade since her mother drew it for her the week before. Maya wanted to use it as much as possible before the rain could wash it away forever. It had been grey and overcast for three days now, it was bound to rain eventually. Mommy insisted that Maya put on her favorite raincoat. The swirling mass of silver clouds hung low in the sky but were the furthest thing from the six year-old’s mind. The suburban street was unusually quiet that day. Mrs. Mead across the street wasn’t out mowing her lawn. Old Man Stein wasn’t patrolling the neighborhood with his basset hound. Maya had only counted three cars driving by that morning. She hadn’t seen her friends Maggie and Spencer riding on their tricycles, either. Their parents must have thought it was too grey and boring to play outside today. Everyone must have thought that. But not Maya’s parents. Her parents loved Maya. They would never want her to be sad.
Maya kept humming.
As she spun around on last section, the pull strings for the hood of her yellow rain coat flipped up into her face. Several blackbirds fluttered and fluffed themselves up in the old, barren maple tree by her front porch. Maya ignored their chittering. She used to be fascinated with the birds that would fly up to her window and peer in, but the magic of it wore off after a few weeks. Now she hardly even noticed when flocks of blackbirds or sparrows or finches sat in the big tree. Maya only thought about how long she could play hopscotch before Mommy called her inside. She scooped up the jagged rock in her little hand and tossed it. Chink chink tap. The rock landed on the “7” square. Her pink and white tennis shoes squeaked as she hopped and alternated between each foot.
Squeak squeak sqwuak. Squeak squeak-
Tap Tap Tap.
Maya stopped and looked around for this new sound. There was no one else on the street with her, and birds didn’t make that kind of tapping noise.
tap-Tap TAP.
She turned right and looked up. There, gently waving from her bedroom window, was a woman. She had frizzy, unkempt blonde hair with streaks of grey framing her narrow, sullen face. A thin, knobby hand with finely manicured fingernails was pressed up against the glass, her other hand still waving. Necklaces of various shapes and sizes were wrapped around the lady’s delicate neck. She wore blue eyeshadow that complemented the dark circles under her dark eyes, making them look sunken and cold. The lady’s smile was broad and strained. Dark red lipstick framed her blackened teeth. Maya thought she looked really hungry.
She also wondered why there was a stranger in her room and if her mother knew.
The lady, who Maya thought looked like an old faded picture, stared at the little girl for a few moments but never blinked. She then pointed at something behind Maya. Her cold grin stretched further across her face, revealing even more teeth. Maya turned around. Standing not three feet away from her was Old Man Stein. His eyes were bulging, and he was shivering. Probably because he forgot his coat, Maya thought. She then noticed he was holding a big, sharp knife, like the one Mommy would use to chop up vegetables. The old man brought it up to his neck, his hand quivering. Maya calmly blinked.
“Maya, sweetie, it’s time to come inside now,” A woman’s voice, Mommy, called out. Maya didn’t move or look away from the terrified man’s face. She thought she could see a tear running down into his scratchy beard. His steely blue eyes met her warm brown ones. He looked like he wanted to say something but it got stuck in his throat.
“Maya? Did you hear me?” Her mother had now stepped out onto their porch. “Maya? What are you- Maya get away from him!” She screeched, running towards her daughter.
Before Maya’s mother could reach them, Old Man Stein cleanly sliced across his throat. Blood splattered everywhere, running down onto his tan woolen cardigan and flecks of it hit Maya’s face. His limp body fell down right on top of the hopscotch drawing, dark red blood washing away the sunny yellow and pink chalk. Maya stood there, frozen and silent. She could hear her mother screaming and engulfing her in a tight embrace, but Maya was confused about just one thing. She looked back up at her window. The lady was gone.

~~~~~~~~
“Dean, where’s my towel?”
“How should I know? I don’t mess with your stuff!”
Sam rolled his eyes, knowing full well that Dean was lying. “Dude, this isn’t funny. Give me my towel back!” He wasn’t about to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing Sam run across their motel room dripping wet and naked to grab his bag. If there would be even any clothes in there. Dean had probably stashed those, too. Their prank war had been going on for days now, ever since Sam decided to add too much salt in Dean’s coffee back in Wisconsin. Several states, three pairs of underwear, and an awkward situation with a prostitute later, neither Winchester showed any sign of calling a truce. And now Dean had gone and hidden all of the motel room’s towel as Sam tried to wash off the remaining grime from their latest job. That particular shapeshifter did not go down easy for them, to say the least.
Sam sighed, and cursed under his breath. Dean’s gonna pay for this one, he thought. He pulled down the shower curtain and started sliding it off of the rod. Cold, damp plastic stuck to his legs as he wrapped the puce-and yellow-colored curtain around his waist, most of it trailing behind him. Bracing himself for the mocking laughter and cell phone pictures that were most certainly to come, Sam opened the bathroom door.
Dean was sprawled across the top of his bed, muddy boots still on, and flannel sleeves rolled up above his elbows. He had been watching something on the tv, but upon seeing his little brother step into the front room, he sat up straighter. He took in the pools of water forming around Sam’s feet and his soaking bangs falling into his eyes. Dean’s bright green eyes flashed with excitement when he noticed the shower curtain. He could barely contain his joy and pleasure with himself as he said, “See, Sammy? You didn’t need a towel after all!”
Sam gave Dean a sullen look and said nothing in return. He shuffled over to his bag, praying something would be in there, and hefted it over his shoulder. The heavy thud of his boots and other belongings hitting Sam’s back told him Dean hadn’t planned that far ahead. Good. The young Winchester didn’t need to plan too severe of a revenge on his pain-in-the-ass brother. Maybe just some well-placed thumbtacks on the driver’s seat in the Impala.
“While you were getting all clean and shiny, I might have found us a case. It’s pretty close, too,” Dean said casually but like he was still stifling a laugh. As Sam turned around, he noticed his brother hurriedly put his cell phone beneath his pillow. And there’s his blackmail. Maybe I will kill Dean this time. Sam sighed.
“Dean, c’mon, we’ve gone on twelve hunts in the past two weeks. Don’t we get some kind of a break? I know you’re –” Sam stopped. Dean stared and blinked at him, as if egging him on to finish the sentence. He was going to say “I know you’re still upset about Dad dying, but you have take a break sometime!”, but the words got stuck in his throat. It had already been a few months since the incident with Yellow Eyes and the hospital, but neither one of the Winchesters cared to talk about it much. Sam pursed his lips and tapped his right thumb against his side. Ignoring the growing ache in his forehead, Sam gave it. “Fine. What d’you got?”
Dean stared at Sam, his vivd green eyes boring into Sam’s for a beat, before he stood up. He grabbed a newspaper and held it out for Sam to take. “Gregory Stein, head of the neighborhood watch, recently retired, walks up to this little girl playing in the street and just offs himself. Butcher knife to the throat.”
Sam looked down at the front page. The picture showed a prone figure on a sidewalk, covered by a white sheet, pools of blood all around the body. “Okay, so what makes you think this is our kind of thing?”
“This isn’t the first one to happen in the neighborhood. In the past three months there have been sixteen deaths and four attempted suicides. And look here.” Dean pointed at the bottom right corner of the pictures. Peering out from a bush, barely visible, was a young girl. “Maya Lovitts has been at the scene for almost every single one. Her parents have no idea what’s going on.”
Sam frowned down at the little girl. She was staring at the dead body. It might’ve been the low-quality of the picture, but Sam thought that she almost looked calm, curious...
“You think it’s a curse? Or that Maya’s behind all of the suicides?” He asked.
Dean shrugged. “There’s something going on with this kid, and I say we pay her and her parents a little visit.”
“Okay then. You get everything ready while I get dressed, and then we’ll head out of here,” Sam said before turning back towards the bathroom door. He took two steps forward when suddenly something caught on the shower curtain. Instinct brought his hands up quickly in front of Sam’s face to try and stop the fall. His bag made a soft thump, and the plastic curtain preserving his dignity pulled away from Sam waist.
“Oof!”
Sam twisted his neck back at Dean. Dean who, with phone in hand, boot on plastic, and a smile on his face, crowed, “Smile, Sammy!”
“Dean!”