CRY IN THE NIGHT
"NO!"
The purring rumble of the Impala cruising down a deserted road beneath him as he flew exploded in the force of the simple shouted word. Dean Winchester sat straight up, reaching over to snap on the light between the motel beds. "Sammy?"
His younger brother was sitting ramrod straight, his hands clenching and unclenching in the garish comforter. His hair and whippet shirt were both stuck to him with sweat, and his chest heaved as he struggled to draw in breath.
But what frightened Dean was his brother's eyes. The hazel orbs were huge with terror and fixed upon nothing at all.
"Hey," Dean sank onto Sam's bed and took him by the shoulders, shaking him gently. "Hey – wake up, man! Come on!"
Slowly, Sam's eyes blinked and he turned to face his brother. "...Dean?"
"Yeah, I'm - oof!" Dean gasped as he suddenly had an armful of little brother, shaking as if he were trying to quake himself to pieces. His hands grabbed onto Dean's t-shirt like a lifeline.
"Geesh, Sammy," Dean breathed, even as one hand automatically came up to smooth sweaty hair off Sam's cheek. "What the hell were you dreaming?"
"Wasn't a dream," Sam slurred into Dean's shoulder. "...vision."
"Must've been some vision, to rock you like this!"
"...shot."
Dean frowned. "Shot?" At Sam's jerky nod, he asked, "Okay – who got shot?"
"...you."
SPN GEMINI SPN
It took two hours and Dean crawling into bed like when they were growing up so Sam could feel his heartbeat, but eventually both brothers fell back into uneasy sleep.
Sam rocketed awake shortly after six-thirty, sitting up and gasping.
Dean sat up, blinking awake and rubbing his panting brother's back as if he was six years old again. "Same dream?"
"No," Sam said, rolling to the side and grabbing a notebook. He wrote down a series of letters and numbers. "A guy suffocated in his car. Felt like another vision."
"Two in one night?"Dean yawned, knuckling at his eyes. "Some kind of record?" He grinned at the glare aimed his way. "Go on. Take-"
"First shower," they chorused, then Sam finished, "You go after and let's head-"
"Out for breakfast," they chorused again. Dean nodded and added, "Might make you feel better, after that first-"
"—Vision," twin voices ended as Sam got out of bed. "I'll leave you some hot water."
"I'll believe that when I see it," Dean shot back, and Sam's over-the-shoulder grin made the jab completely worth it.
Dean didn't even try to go back to sleep. Sam's double visions had completely rattled him as well. So he set up their dual laptops and typed in the string of letters and numbers Sam had written down.
The shower cut off, and Dean left the computer to do its thing while he gathered his clothing.
The motel room briefly resembled a revolving door – one Winchester leaving the bathroom as one walked in. The pair shared an amused smile at the visual as Dean closed the door between them.
When Dean emerged from the shower, he saw Sam raise his eyes from the laptop. "Found him."
Dean nodded and began to pack up the motel room.
He'd put on his boots in the car.
SPN GEMINI SPN
Caperville, Michigan – approximately two hours out from Saginaw.
The brothers checked in, and Sam set up while Dean pulled out their "investigation suits".
Dean turned as Sam drew in a shocked gasp. "What?"
"We're too late. He died yesterday. Suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning."
"Suicide?" Dean frowned. "Why would your visions clue us in to a suicide?"
"I know, it don't make sense!" Sam erupted, his slipping diction revealing the depth of his agitation. "Usually it's something supernatural – but a suicide don't-" He broke off, sighing deeply as Dean's hand landed on his shoulder.
"We'll figure it out," Dean said calmly. "Who was it?"
"Jim Miller," Sam recited miserably. "Left behind a brother and his family."
Dean squeezed his shoulder. "We can't save everyone."
"I know," Sam sighed. "Doesn't help very much right now." Dean released his shoulder and moved away. Sam reached to close the computer, when a pair of eyes caught his. "Dean."
Dean came back over as Sam scrolled down to fully reveal a woman with tired eyes standing stiffly in a man's embrace. "Pretty – but sad. Who's she?"
"Jim Miller's brother and his wife."
"Okay." Dean frowned. "So why's that tension in your voice?"
"That first vision-dream – you were shot protecting a lady." He touched the screen. "You were shot protecting her."
"You're sure?" The expression Sam turned on him eloquently answered that question. "You're sure. Okay." He took a deep breath. "Let's go talk to this – Roger Miller," he read off the screen. "See what we can learn."
"Dean-"
He held up a hand. "We know your visions don't always come true. I'm taking it as a warning to be careful. So we'll be careful."
Sam blew the air out of his cheeks and stood. "Let's put on our suits."
"Why?"
"You were shot in Hunter clothing – not Fed suits. Being careful, remember?"
Dean smiled. "You got it, Sammy."
SPN GEMINI SPN
Dean smiled slightly as Roger Miller answered the door. "Mister Miller? I'm Agent Collins and this is Agent Banks." He showed his ID.
Sam did the same. "We'd like to speak to you about your brother."
Miller frowned. "This isn't FBI jurisdiction, Agents. My brother committed suicide."
Sam shook his head. "Mister Miller, we have-"
"My brother," Miller cut him off. "Committed suicide. And I will thank you to leave me and my family alone!" With that, he closed the door firmly in their faces.
Wincing, the brothers looked at each other and chorused, "Charming."
SPN GEMINI SPN
After cruising through a Mexican take-out restaurant, twin laptops churned out research answers for an hour or so.
"Yahtzee," Sam and Dean chorused, then looked at each other and said, "You first."
Dean shook his head, chuckling. "Okay – oldest first. The recently departed Mister Miller had absolutely no prior indications of depressive behaviour."
"That doesn't really mean anything," Sam pointed out. "Sometimes acute depression-"
"Yeah," Dean held up a hand. "Except everything seemed to be going his way. The business was thriving, he was steadily dating... My gut says this wasn't suicide."
"And again, acute depression can sometimes trigger even when things are going well," Sam said. "But in this case, I'm inclined to believe your gut. The timing is just too co-incidental to be coincidence." He turned the laptop around. "Jim Miller died the very next day after his nephew Max returned from involuntary commitment to a psych ward."
"Max," Dean frowned at the article and then turned back to his own laptop and typed for a second. "Here we go – son of Roger and Alice Miller, admitted for delusions and hallucinations-" He chewed on his lower lip. "He looks like he's your age."
"Found a picture?" Sam stood up, stretching his back.
"Lemme get his records; it's gonna bug me..." Dean made a sound of satisfaction. "Maxwell Roger Miller, son of Roger and Eliza-" His wide eyes snapped up to meet Sam's.
"Elizabeth?" they gasped in unison, startled. Sam sat back down, ran a quick search, and hissed.
"What?" Dean asked, coming to read over his shoulder and biting off a curse. "He is your age – born March '83, mother died in a house fire—"
"-When he was six months old," they chorused, then Sam looked up, his eyes haunted. "Like us."
Dean's lips thinned and he grabbed his jacket, pulling his tie tight again. "Let's go. Time to talk to the Millers again."
"Yeah," Sam growled, closing both laptops and grabbing his own jacket. "This is a little too close for comfort.