;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;
All things considered, getting the Colt hadn't been too bad. Dean had been pretty quiet about most of it, and he'd been there to watch Sam's back while he cracked the safe to take the Colt and the case of remaining original bullets. He'd made sure Daniel was out, and he left him a note he wasn't sure he'd believe that next May, he should be ready for a coven of vampires.
They were about halfway to Nebraska when Dean pulled the car over on the side of the road, and Sam tried not to shrink into the floorboard.
"I lied."
Absolutely not the start he was expecting for that conversation. His throat tightened. "Look, I know it sounds crazy, man, but you still don't believe me? Dean, if I didn't know what I was talking about-"
"Then how the hell could you have found the Colt, yeah, I know, that's not what I'm talkin' about. Even if you're crazy, and…well, who knows, but I believe you. What I'm talkin' about…" He turned, threw one arm over the back of the bench seat so he was half facing Sam. "Was me sayin' I wouldn't push you to tell me anything you didn't want to. But I guess I lied about that, because seein' you like that the other day…Sam, I've never seen you like that. And you told me you'd explain, and then I get this big rambling story about how you know pretty much everything that's gonna happen for the forseeable future and how you wanted to come back and straighten everything out between us, and I'm not gonna say that wasn't good to hear, but nowhere in there did you ever really tell me what the hell's goin' on with you." He tapped his left hand on the wheel, the sound loud in the silence. "And I guess I'm just not that patient; I'm sorry. So if this thing with us is that important to you, then I need you to act like is and stop keepin' secrets from me, Sam, because if you-"
"I saw you." It hadn't been too hard for the panic to rise right back up. It had been there ever since dad had left a day or so before, bubbling under the surface, and hearing Dean give him anything that even sounded like an ultimatum, that was all the prodding he needed. Because honestly, even if he kind of hated himself for it there was a part of him underneath his desire to protect Dean that just wanted to tell him everything and collapse and find shelter from the weight.
"What do you mean?" Dean was quiet, soft and unaccusing.
"I mean…before, I had this girlfriend at Stanford. Jessica." It wasn't until after he'd said it that he'd thought about what kind of reaction that alone might get, and he wasn't wrong. Dean's hand had tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles white, and he couldn't see anything of it in his eyes, which meant the thought hurt him enough that he thought he needed to hide it. "She died in a fire on the ceiling. Just like mom, and I was seeing it for months before it happened. And the other night…the other night, it was you." Even remembering, the tears stung at his eyes. "And I can't…Dean, I can't even think about losing you, not now, not after the way everything's worked out."
"Did you love her?" Of course, that would be the part he would latch onto.
Had he loved her? Even thinking about it now, the answer was still obvious. "Yeah. Yeah, I did, but Dean, she was never you. It wasn't the same, and if I'd thought for one minute I could really have everything I wanted with you, I'd have done it, I'd have taken the chance no matter what." Kind of like he had, in the end.
Dean nodded, still careful not to look at him all the way. "Yeah, ok."
"Dean?"
Dean shrugged, turned back to the wheel and put his hand over the keys in the ignition. "I dunno, I just…it's kinda one thing for you to tell me you left for Stanford and another for you tell me you…anyway, it doesn't matter, 's fine."
Clearly. Sam yanked his hand away from the ignition, staring him down when Dean glared at him. "Dean, c'mon. You started this conversation, you're not gonna just drive off and end it like that."
"Why not? I asked you a question, you answered it, think that means the conversation's over, Sam."
"Seriously? You're seriously more hung up on the fact that I was with someone else than the fact that I saw you die?"
Dean let out a hard breath, took a moment before he turned back around in the seat to face Sam again. "I'm not scared, no. Don't know why you thought I would be. This son of a bitch comes after me, that gives us the perfect chance to get him, so I don't mind bein' the bait. The fact that it's drivin' you crazy, yeah, that means something, makes me want to kill him myself just a little bit more. But you know what, Sam?" Dean shook his head, a slight hollow smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "The fact that you felt the need to lie to me about all of this rather than tell me right after it happened? Yeah, that bothers me. Quite a bit, actually."
The words stabbed into him, knife edged and more perfectly aimed than Dean could've ever realized.
The Sam I knew is gone. It's not the demon blood or the psychic crap. It's the little stuff. The lies. The secrets.
He hated lying to his brother, especially after the godawful mess it had contributed to before, but it seemed like there was just flat out no other way to handle some of this. Even trying to keep it to a minimum it was already hurting Dean, and if it started to drive a wedge between them years earlier than it had before, wouldn't that just be perfect?
"I just wanted to look after you…make sure it never happened at all. I figured you'd worry if I told you so…" He shrugged, at a loss.
"Case you haven't noticed, I've been worried."
Sam flinched, only springing into motion again when Dean's hand started back toward the ignition. He caught his wrist stopping him. "Dean, wait, about the other thing, what happened before-"
"Look, Sam, I told you it didn't-"
"I love you." The words rushed out in one breath, tumbling all over each other, and his hand tightened around Dean's wrist. "And I know that's obvious so I've never said it, because you've gotta already know I've loved you all my life, right? But what I mean is I seriously…" He took a breath, his words going a little weak. "You're everything. And that's always been true, I just…know it a little more now. And I really-"
"I got it, Sammy. It's ok." Coming from anyone else it could've sounded like a dismissal, like he hadn't really heard at all, but he could hear the emotion thick in Dean's voice, and Dean reached over for him then, pulling him in for a kiss. Dean had always communicated better physically than verbally. Even when they were kids, his default response when Sam was scared had always been to step in front of him before he ever said anything to him, because what could possibly say more than putting himself between his brother and the threat, whether it was real or imagined? Sam had learned to read him then and perfected it over the years, taught himself to understand all the underlying meanings Dean made plain in his own way.
Like the way his hand was on Sam's jaw now, gentle and firm all at once. It spoke for his possession and reassurance, telling Sam that he was Dean's, his little brother and so much more, and they were ok. He kissed him slow, tongue stroking against Sam's in a way that was more caressing than seductive. There was love there, pure and unmistakable, and Sam reached out and gripped the collar of Dean's jacket, holding on and pulling him a little closer.
When they pulled apart he didn't say anything at first beyond a whispered 'Sammy' against Sam's lips, and that was more than enough. Sam tilted his head forward to kiss him again, this time just a brush of their lips together that managed to be every bit as intimate as the first kiss had been.
Dean's fingers trailed through his hair, stroking, and his hand kneaded at the nape of Sam's neck, strong and warm and affectionate. With a last squeeze and a final soft kiss Dean let him go and turned back to the wheel, and this time, Sam let him. There was a real smile on his face when he pulled back out onto the highway, something in his eyes lighter than Sam had seen them in weeks.
Even with everything hanging over them, right then Sam couldn't be afraid.
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
It was harder than he'd thought, seeing Ellen and Jo. He wanted to wrap them both up in a hug the minute he saw them, to feel them real and alive and to tell them both how much he'd missed them, and not being able to do that was damn hard.
It had to be enough just seeing them, knowing they were alright, and the way Ellen welcomed them put a smile on his face. They went through almost the same ordeal with her as before, but this time he was able to tell her for sure that dad hadn't sent them, that he'd found out about the roadhouse and Ash and they'd come of their own accord.
Ash had been just as helpful as Sam hoped he would be, and they were following the directions he'd laid out, heading toward Sandpoint, Idaho where demonic omens had cropped up over the past few days. Dean was just a little freer and easier than he had been since this all started, and he was driving with the windows down, a beer wedged up against the seat beside him with his jacket.
He turned the music up before he twisted his arm around to grab it, taking a long drink.
"You know, if a cop sees you doing that, he's probably gonna haul your ass to jail."
"Don't see any. Besides, I have this awesome brother who'll come get me." He flashed Sam a grin before he turned his attention back to the empty stretch of road ahead of them, wheel in his right hand with his left arm resting on the door.
"You do, huh? He might just say you deserved it."
"Oh he'd definitely say that. But he'd miss me."
Sam scooted closer and took a drink from Dean's beer, tasting the slightest hint of him on the rim. He draped his arm over the back of the seat, his fingertips brushing Dean's neck and smiling when Dean rolled his shoulders back and toward his touch.
"Guess you're right there. He would miss you."
They didn't stop for the night until nearly halfway across Montana and they ended up in an even cheaper motel room than usual, the light by the bed sporting a lampshade with what looked like a bloodstain on it. They turned it out and turned the TV on and watched baseball for awhile. Sam stretched out nearly diagonal across the bed, his head against Dean's chest, and he closed his eyes and listened to his heartbeat, drank in the feel of the way Dean ran his fingers lazily through his hair.
In his head he could see flashes of Carthage, of a grocery store and Jo bleeding out, bearing the kind of wounds he was all too familiar with and had never wanted to see again. He took a deep breath, shifted against Dean's chest and wasn't exactly surprised when Dean's other arm came up around him, dropping the remote and draping over Sam's chest. The stroke of Dean's fingers through his hair stopped him, his thumb rubbing over Sam's temple.
"What is it, Sammy?" There was just the tiniest edge of tension in the words, just enough to show that he expected a real answer.
On this, Sam could give him one. He already knew enough anyway. He turned his head, looking straight up at the ceiling, eyes trailing over the cracks in the plaster. "Ellen and Jo and Ash? Where I came back from, they're all dead. And they were…they're good friends. It's just…it's weird, you know? Seeing them like this, now, knowing what happened…"
"I bet it is." He could feel the vibration of Dean's voice against his back, all low and familiar. "But isn't that kind of what this was about? Makin' sure that stuff doesn't happen?"
"Yeah. Pretty much."
Dean's hand rubbed absently over his chest, rolling a fraying string between his fingers. "The apocalypse…how the hell does that happen? When?"
"Not for a long time." Relatively speaking. "And I think maybe we can stop it anyway." He didn't say any more, and Dean actually seemed alright with that. He sat up just a little farther against the headboard, pulling Sam with him, and they watched the Orioles play the Mariners until they both fell asleep with the TV on.
When he had the vision that time he tried to sit up gasping, his body shaking, but Dean wouldn't let go. He sat up all the way and pulled Sam back against his chest between the vee of his legs, arms wrapped tight around him, and he held him close and whispered soft and low in his ear until the last of the panic had cleared itself away.
Dean kissed over his pulse, his lips dry and warm from sleep. "It's alright, Sammy. 'M not goin' anywhere."
Sam had to believe that, because if this had all been for nothing, hell would be irrelevant. If he got Dean killed by doing this, he'd turn himself over into their hands to do whatever they wanted with him.
''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''
"So we're sure it's this house?"
"Yes." For the millionth time, Sam checked that the Colt was loaded. "I saw the view from Cody's window out to the lake."
Dean sighed, shaking his head as he took a sip of coffee. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you've been right on every weird little detail so far so I'm not doubting your freaky powers it's just…these people are rich, dude. Like, 'major security system' kind of rich."
"I know. We're just…I don't know, Dean, but we're gonna have to get in there." And Dean was right, that wasn't gonna be an easy task. This was lake front property, huge lakefront property. This house alone probably cost over a million dollars, and picking the lock and breaking in here wasn't gonna be any walk in the park. He'd seen this happen though, had seen what looked like the kid's older sister burning in a fire on the ceiling. He was damn well not gonna let that happen, even if it did get them arrested. Waiting in the car was torture, but considering they were gonna have to seriously just break in, waiting until the last minute was really their only option here.
It was 2 AM when Dean saw movement in the kid's room, and they bolted. Dean headed for the front door but Sam took the window, crashing through it with a cement flowerpot on the corner of the porch. He clambered through, cutting his arm on the glass, and he heard Dean hit the back of the couch as he vaulted in just behind him. There was an alarm sounding even as they ran up the stairs, and at the top the girl he'd seen burn was just coming out of her room, looking bewildered. She was maybe 16 or 17, and when she saw them her eyes flickered between abject terror and fury. She darted toward her brother's room and Dean's hand shot out, yanking her away and clamping his hand over her mouth.
"it's ok. It's ok, I'm not gonna hurt you, I swear, we're not here to hurt you." She was flailing against him, not listening, and upstairs they could hear the parents stirring. Sam shoved against Dean's shoulder, pushing him toward the stairs.
"Go. Get her out of here."
"Sammy-"
"Go!"
He kicked in the door, burst in just in time to see Azazel turning back over his shoulder. His eyes gleamed yellow in the low light, and Sam's stomach turned as he caught a glimpse of a drop of blood dripping from his wrist. He was too late.
The shock froze him for just a second too long, and by the time he fired Azazel was already dissipating into mist just like before, just like his first goddamn attempt at the bastard in that house in Salvation. The ceiling burst into flames, the air sucked up toward it as the wood paneling started to blaze. He almost threw the gun at the spot where Yellow Eyes had disappeared, but the realization that this was the Colt and he couldn't be irrational and dramatic and stupid stopped him. He shoved it in the back of his jeans, ran forward to snatch Cody up, holding him tight against his chest. There was blood on his lips, and Sam wiped it away with the cuff of his jacket, swallowed back the rage that threatened to rip free from his chest.
He nearly collided with the mother on his way out into the hall, and as soon as she realized what he was holding she snatched her child from his arms. "How dare you touch him, you-"
"M'am, no, I'm sorry, I was saving him, the fire-"
"Carrie, we've gotta go!" Her husband pulled her back, his eyes on the fire that was spreading across the nursery ceiling, flames licking out into the hall. Sam could feel the heat at his back, and a handful of memories warred in his head as he ran down the stairs.
Take your brother outside as fast as you can, now Dean, go!
Dean had told him the story enough times now that he could almost see it, the way Dean would've held him close, green eyes wide and frightened as he stood out in the yard and watched their home burn. He burst out the front door only to find Dean right there, coming out behind him, hands fisting in his jacket. He'd apparently left the girl out on the lawn and come back in, only to see Sam coming down. They made it down the steps, and Sam stopped just long enough to make sure the family was all together and safe and not about to try and kill them. The girl was saying she'd heard something in her brother's room before the alarm ever went off, and Sam stalked off and left them talking, feeling Dean follow right behind him.
"Did you-"
"NO." No, he hadn't gotten him. He'd been stupid, gotten distracted for a split second and hesitated, and that had been all it had taken. Now he'd not only missed the shot he'd wasted a goddamn bullet, and these were all they were gonna have because it sure as hell wasn't gonna be fixed by Ruby this time around. He was furious, and he stalked past the car, punched the pine tree beside it hard, felt the bark crack and his fingers ache.
"Whoa, hey, Sam-"
"I had him!" He slammed his fist into the tree again, ignored the way the sharp cracked edges dug into his skin. "I fucking had him." Dean yanked his arms back, hauling him away from the tree and spinning him around, pinning him up against it.
"Stop it, dammit, ok? Just stop it." They were both breathing hard, Dean's arm pressed hard against his chest. He could feel the adrenaline fading into a more subdued, angry despair. "Sam, you tried. Hell, we were close, and that's something, right? We'll get him. I know we will."
He wanted to have that kind of faith, but he remembered, he remembered all too fucking well, and he could still see the last time he'd missed. He swallowed hard, knocked his head back against the tree only to have Dean's hand come up and tangle in his hair, holding him still.
"I'm not gonna let you blame yourself for this. I'm not. We made it here, we tried. I don't care what you know, no one could've asked more from you than that. Ok?"
He took a deep breath, pushed against Dean's chest. "We should go."
Dean held him there just a little longer, his eyes trying to catch Sam's, but when Sam stubbornly refused to look him in the eye he finally realized he was fighting a losing battle and he let go, stepping back and straightening Sam's jacket.
"Yeah. Come on; I'll drive."
'''''''''''''''''''''''''''
"How the hell'd you do this?"
"Window, on the way in. Jacket sleeve got pushed up I guess."
Dean swabbed at the edges of the cut gently with a cotton ball doused in alcohol, his movements slowing just a little when Sam hissed. "Sorry, Sammy."
" 's ok."
Dean pulled Sam's arm a little closer, resting it against his thigh as he pulled out the needle and suture, ready to stitch up the jagged cut on the back side of his right wrist.
"You're damn lucky, you know that? If you'd had your arm turned the other way, this coulda been a hell of a lot more serious."
"Yeah, I'm a lucky guy; it's all rainbows and puppies for me."
Dean stopped, eyebrows raising as he looked up at his brother. "Cut it out, Sam."
"Really? Dean, I'm the reason that kid is gonna have a shitty life, the reason that family's gonna be wondering what the hell happened tonight for years!"
"No you're not! Sam, that demon, those things are on him, not you! That bastard's the only one to blame here. You didn't do anything other than try to help them."
"Yeah, and a lot of good that did them! I didn't stop it!" He reached his free hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose to stave off the way his head was throbbing. His voice dropped, softening. "We didn't even find dad; I'm not sure he's even in town."
Dean cupped his hand behind Sam's head, pulling him forward and kissing the top of his head. He could feel Dean's breath against him, and it steadied him the way it always did. "We're gonna find dad, Sam, ok? We're gonna find him, and we're gonna get this son of a bitch, and this was just the first try. It's not your fault it didn't work." He pulled back, dipped his head to meet Sam's eyes and let the look in his own say everything else.
Stop worrying.
He couldn't manage all the way, but he could let Dean think he had, at least a little. He nodded slightly and Dean eased off, focusing back on the gash on his arm. "You gonna let me take care of this now so we can get some sleep?"
"Yeah. Ok."
Dean shuffled a little closer, shoulders hunching as he leaned in to work. "Well then hold still."
''''''''''''''''''''''''''
"Dean, I still think-"
"I don't care! Dammit, Sam, I already told you, the answer's no, ok? Just no!" Dean stared him down over the hood of the Impala, the look in his eyes brooking no argument. "Look, you already told me everything about how this went, you really think I'm just gonna let you walk in there with some psycho by yourself?"
"Dean, I understand, you're worried, but this kid, we have this in common. He's gonna respond better to me than you and that's just the truth, so it seems to stand to reason that I've got a better chance of getting him to listen to me if I talk to him alone."
"And you also said we need to convince him you're the same, tell him about the fire. Out of the two of us, who witnessed that exactly?"
"Dean-"
"I am not letting you go in there by yourself; I'm sorry. I'll let you do most of the talking, but I'm goin' and that's all there is to it." He shook his head, waited a breath for Sam to push back again, and when he didn't right away Dean slapped his hand on top of the hood and turned toward the house. "C'mon. Let's go talk to psychic boy."
Sam huffed, shoved his hands in his pockets and walked a little faster around the front of the car, catching up with Dean just before he hit the sidewalk. "Wish you wouldn't do that, you know."
"Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but I'm gonna be lookin' out for you for the rest of my life. That's just how it is."
"No, not that. I don't mind that." In fact, if he had to be honest with himself he was incredibly grateful for that, but that was kind of beside the point. "The whole…psychic boy thing. I mean, I get it, you think I'm freak but do you have to bring it up all the time? I mean couldn't you just…I don't know. Forget it."
Dean stopped short just in front of the steps, and he reached out and caught Sam's arm to stop him too. There was honest concern in his eyes, and Sam wished he just hadn't said anything. "Look, Sam, this whole thing, it's really the 'over my head' kind of crazy, but-"
"I know, Dean, forget I-"
Dean's voice rose, overriding him. "-I would never think you're a freak or something, ok? I mean, you are a freak." He smiled, his hand coming up to grip the back of Sam's neck. "But not like that. You're just…Sammy. Same kind of freak you've always been." He stepped in closer, his thumb rubbing reassuringly against Sam's neck. "I don't think there's anything wrong with you, Sam, I swear I don't. And if that's what you've thought, then I'm sorry."
"Are you sure? Because before you said-"
"Really? Really, Sam?" He let go, his hands spreading out wide. "Because I don't remember that! So tell me, is this gonna happen all the time? Because I gotta be honest, I think it makes about as much sense as us fightin' over something I said in a dream you had last night, because even though this might've happened, it didn't happen to me. I never said that to you, and I don't feel that way about it at all, so it's really pointless of you to go blaming me for stuff that I've never done. I mean…" He shrugged, rubbed absently at the back of his neck. "If you're gonna get mad at me about something, at least make it something I can remember. I'm pretty sure I've managed to say a few shitty things to you before but at least if I knew what you were talking about, I could-"
"Dean, no, I…" Honestly, he didn't really know what to say. The response to what Dean had said had been instinctive because it hurt, and considering that in general he was more open with him this time around, it had been a little easier to say it. Now that he thought of it, though, Dean was right. He was learning all the time that this timeline really was distinct and independent now from the other, and if he kept comparing 'versions' of Dean, his Dean that he had now was only gonna be upset by it. And, rightly so. He hadn't said the things to Sam that Dean had before, and he didn't deserve to be treated like he was going to inevitably say them. Knowing that and putting it into practice, though, was probably gonna be a little harder. "Dean, you're right. And I'm sorry. I'll…try to stop comparing you. I can't promise I won't, but I'll try, alright?"
Dean nodded, and though the set of his shoulders still looked a little angry they eased when Sam clapped a hand on his shoulder. Iit was all Sam could do not to lean down and kiss him, but considering they were getting ready to go in and tell Max they were brothers, that probably wasn't the best idea.
Instead he settled for the hand on Dean's shoulder, and he smiled for him before he pulled away. "Ok then." Hopefully, it'd stay that way. Dean thinking of him as a monster had been one of those things he'd never been able to bear. He jogged up the steps and rang the doorbell, his hands back in his pockets by the time Dean stepped up behind him and Mrs. Miller opened the door.
Sam turned on his brightest smile, pouring out the charm. "Hi, Mrs. Miller, is Max here?"
She dusted her hands off on her apron, looking a little confused. "Yes he is, can I ask who's asking?"
"Oh of course, sorry, I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean, we work with Max at Office Depot."
"Alright, well…come on in." She smiled, the expression only a little off. "I'm sorry, Max didn't mention having friends coming over."
"Oh, he's not expecting us. We'd just like to go up and talk to him about a couple scheduling things, a party we're throwing after work next week, stuff like that." Dean smiled for her, giving her that look Sam knew from experience could melt pretty much anyone. "His room's upstairs?"
"Yes. First door on the right, boys."
"Thank you, ma'm."
Sam nearly took the stairs two at a time, trying his best to keep his heart from racing in his chest. It didn't work. This was sort of his first real test, because if he could keep Max from flipping all the way off the deep end and killing his family, then maybe there was hope for some of the other kids, too. Sam knocked, held his breath while he waited for an answer.
"Go away."
Their eyes met, Dean's eyebrows rising. Sam shuffled in closer to the door, talking near the gap. "Max, we just came to talk to you about something. Do you have a second?"
Apparently, he'd been right in assuming Max thought it was his dad at the door. He yanked it open, scrutinizing them the minute he saw them. "Who are you?"
Well for one thing, someone who wished he'd keep his voice down so his mom couldn't hear. Sam tried to scoot in closer to the door without looking threatening. "We're just a couple people who know something about what's been going on with you lately, and we'd like to talk." Max's eyes were narrowing, and Sam hurried to elaborate. "You know…the stuff you can do. Your powers, they're getting stronger, aren't they?"
For a second, Max almost looked frightened, but he was quick to step back and let them in, shutting the door behind them. "Like I said, who the hell are you?"
"I'm Sam, this is Dean. We're here to help." Fuck, he realized how stupid it sounded, how little he had to offer this kid that had been abused all his life, but they had a kinship he couldn't ignore and he couldn't just let Max go without trying, wouldn't have been able to even if it had only been himself he'd taken out and not half his family. "When you were little, there was a fire in your nursery wasn't there?"
Max circled away from them to stand behind his computer chair, his hands tightening hard on the top wooden rung. "How the fuck do you know about that?"
"Because the same thing happened to me, Max! I was 6 months old, and there was a fire, and our mom…" Just like always, he looked to Dean for reassurance.
Dean picked it up smoothly, hardly a beat missed. "She died in a fire on the ceiling. And that's what your dad says about your mom, isn't it? Only you've never believed him, you just think he's crazy."
"He is crazy. You don't know him, you don't know what he-"
"I know he beats you to hell." Max froze, and Sam softened his voice, coaxing and understanding all at once. "I know there's no excuse for the things he's done to you, and I'm sorry, but that's no reason to kill him, and I know that's what you're planning to do as soon as you can. I just…we're not here to say we're gonna tell anyone cause we're not. I just wanted to come tell you there's another way. You don't have to be part of any of this."
Max's hands flexed around the wood, his eyes flickered nervously before they settled on his desk. He swallowed hard, his eyes focusing in on a coffee cup on the corner that began to shake, rising trembling into the air and hovering before it was set back down heavily on the desk. "I'm getting better. I couldn't do more than make it twitch a few weeks ago." His gaze leveled on Sam, cold and more than a little dangerous. "How much can you do?"
"No, nothing like that. I have visions; I see things before they happen." He hesitated, then decided to just go for it. "Max, I saw you kill your dad, and your uncle, and your mother, and then yourself. Y ou don't wanna do that, man. You don't have to. You can do better than that, Max, I promise."
He laughed, short and angry. "How? You know, you say you know what I've been through, but how could you know? How could you know how it feels to know your dad has hated you since you were a baby?"
"I don't know, Max. I don't know, and I'm sorry you do, but this isn't the answer. It's not." Max was breathing harder, tears forming at the corners of his eyes and Sam stepped forward, conscious of the way Dean moved with him. His mouth was already open to speak when Max cut him off.
"What happened to us?"
Bit of a dicey question. He didn't want to give him information that would send him running straight to Azazel so he could become another Ava, but it was hard to say nothing to him either. "I don't know much. Just that whatever it was, something's gonna wanna use us, twist these powers around on us and make us use them when we shouldn't. And we can't let that happen, none of us can."
"There's more?"
"Lots more, I don't even know." He almost reached out to him, pulled his hand back when Max recoiled. "Listen, come with us. We can help you find a place, get on your feet. You just need to get out of here, that's all. Just forget he exists. I know you think it's not right him even getting to live after everything he's done, but think about it…the bastard's not worth it, Max, he's not. Leaving and leaving him alive? That'll be more a kick in the face than killing him ever could be."
There were footsteps on the stairs then and they all jerked, Max most of all. Seconds later there was a knock on the door, soft and questioning. "Honey? Are your friends staying for dinner?"
"No. They were just leaving." His eyes met Sam's as he said it, defiant and unrelenting, though his voice wavered a little. If his mother noticed, she didn't say anything. Then again, she was apparently very good at looking the other way.
"Max, I-"
"I've heard enough."
Dean's hand gripped at his arm, pulling him back. "You heard him. C'mon, Sam." If he'd wanted this to go a little more smoothly, he probably shouldn't have told Dean about just how crazy and violent this kid could get. Really though, right now there wasn't much danger. That was all gonna come later. Still, it was clear there was no talking to him right now, and after a last look the turned around, following Dean down the stairs.
They hung around town trying to think of a better way to approach him, but it didn't do any good. He jumped off a bridge on the north end of town two days later.
For Sam, it was then that the real fear set in.
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