Who the Hell Are You?
Rating: T
Disclaimer: I own nothing Supernatural. All I got to my name is Jayne and Lynn.
AN: Big thanks yous to Lov3good, angeleyenc, SingingInTheRain1989, Spelllesswonder29, Penny, ThreeMoons, Nelle07, sage1993, Joan J., Supernatural94, marky deedee, BlueEyedPisces, Padme4000, Carver Edlund, Little Rock-n-Roll Queen, deansbabygirl934, legrowl, supernatural94, and M*YP for all the reviews!
Chapter 41: BFFs
The Winchester's motel room looked the way it always did mid-hunt. Newspaper clippings tacked to the walls, along with maps and county records. Dean's gun collection spread out on the bed before him as he cleaned everything and anything. Sam pacing, throwing out various suggestions, papers clenched in his fist.
Of course, Dean noted, it didn't used to be typical for Jayne Gibson and Lynn Juarez to be sprawled out in the room as well. But over the past few months… well, it was no longer surprising to see them here. Lynn hunched over her laptop at the table by the window, fingers flying and brow furrowed, was as commonplace as Sam's pacing and feverish muttering. The sight of Jayne kicking back in one of the chairs around the room, boots propped up on whatever happened to be in front of her, frowning quietly and speculatively at the research wall was as familiar to him as the sight of all his guns laid out and waiting to be cleaned.
What was not commonplace was Sam's wincing and the way his hand kept going to his head. Dean frowned, watching, wondering what his deal was. Maybe this case was giving him a migraine.
Hell, it was giving Dean an ulcer. He was certain it was an ulcer and not acid reflux caused by that giant burrito he'd eaten earlier, no matter what Sam said.
Suddenly, Sam let out a loud cry of pain, clutching his forehead.
"Sam?" Dean called, concerned. "What's wrong with you?"
"Ah – my head…"
"Sam?" Lynn asked, getting to her feet.
Dean raced to Sam's side as his brother tumbled to the floor beside his bed. He hit the ground on his knees, clutching Sam's shoulder. "What is it? Talk to me!"
Sam's eyes went open, went wide, went totally vacant. "Sam!" Dean bellowed.
Sam slumped against the nightstand, staring unseeingly, and didn't respond.
"What the crap…?" he heard Jayne mutter from behind him.
Lynn raced over to Sam and Dean, kneeling beside them. She gripped Sam's shoulder, her eyes reflecting the panic Dean was feeling in his gut.
"Sam?" she demanded. "Sam! Oh, god…"
"What's happening to him?" Dean thundered, knowing even as he asked that it was a pointless question. Neither Lynn nor Jayne would have any more answers than he did.
Jayne walked up behind him. She stood there, silent.
"Should we get an ambulance?" Lynn asked in a whisper.
Dean shook his head helplessly.
And then Sam snapped out of it.
His vacant eyes became alert once again and he sat up straighter, gasping and looking around.
Dean was still clutching his brother's arm; Lynn was still gripping Sam's shoulder. Sam was panting, hissing through the pain, panic in his eyes.
"It's happening again!" he exclaimed. "Something's going to kill Roger Miller!"
Dean stared at him. Lynn stared at him. Dean couldn't see Jayne's face, but he was sure she was staring at Sam too.
Again, Dean's handle on things slipped. It was slipping too often lately, and it was slipping almost entirely because of Sam, although occasionally his father was to blame.
He had only just gotten used to the idea that Sam had nightmares that sometimes came true… well, not really used to it, but he was working towards accepting it. But now, if Sam was going to start having these visions while he was awake, if he was going to start freaking out randomly in strange places…
This whole case was getting too weird for him. At that moment, Dean was positive the churning in his stomach was an ulcer.
It took mere seconds for them to pile into the Impala. Sam called 411 on the way for Roger Miller's address. He looked like shit warmed over.
When he admitted he was scared, when he admitted how painful the visions were getting… Dean didn't really know what to say. He stumbled over a few cliché phrases of comfort, cursing the silence in the backseat, wishing Lynn or Jayne had something to add.
Sam freaked out anyway. He wanted to know why he was connected to the Millers, why he was watching them die… and Dean didn't know what to tell him, because he didn't know the answers to any of Sam's questions, and he wanted to figure this shit out as badly as Sam did.
But Sam was scared. That was the important thing; Dean's little brother was scared. And that meant it was Dean's job to not be scared, no matter how scared he might be.
So when Sam called him on his too calm exterior, and asked him if all this psychic crap freaked him out, Dean lied.
"No," he told Sam. "This doesn't freak me out."
Crack!
Splat!
Lynn jumped a foot in the air, freezing on the fire escape landing as a window one floor up slammed shut.
She rounded the railing, ducking out from behind Sam, who had stopped before her on the landing, equally frozen, staring at the window in question.
The window in question was splattered in bright red blood. Lynn covered her mouth, gagging, and stumbled backwards into the wall behind the fire escape.
It had all been for nothing. The too fast drive to Roger Miller's apartment, the pleading with the stubborn man to let them in, the race around the back of the building, Dean kicking in the gate, the mad dash up the fire escape, floor after floor, so many she lost count.
Jayne put a steadying hand on her shoulder. Lynn swallowed and shook her head.
Dean darted past Sam and climbed the last few steps to the apartment window. He stared at the blood. He stared into the flowerbox outside the window.
The head.
Lynn closed her eyes, gagging again, keeping her lips clamped shut to muffle the reflex. Her stepsister squeezed her shoulder, and Lynn forced her eyes open.
Sam climbed a few more steps, frowning at the window.
Dean whipped out a handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it at Sam. "Start wiping off your fingerprints," he ordered. "We don't want the cops to know we were here. Go!"
Sam took the rag, complying without a word. He looked sick to his stomach. Lynn took the order too, glad for direction. She pulled out her own handkerchief and started wiping down the rails.
"I'm going to check out the inside," Dean announced. He pushed open the window along the fire escape – the clean window – using another cloth to keep the window frame free of his prints. Then he ducked inside.
Sam watched him go, and then stared at the blood staining the window, streaming down the wall under the flowerbox. He grimaced and shook his head.
"Someone should go with Dean," Lynn whispered. "In case whatever it was is still…"
"You want to?" Jayne asked from where she was wiping down the railing. "Get away from…"
She gestured lamely at the blood.
Lynn shook her head, swallowing too hard. "No," she said. "No, I'll be ok. You go."
Jayne frowned. "You sure?"
Lynn nodded.
Jayne studied her a moment, and then she nodded too. She climbed the steps, brushing past Sam, and then hopped into the apartment through the open window.
Sam was silent as he wiped down prints, staring at the flowerbox.
Lynn wiped one spot on the rail too hard for too long. She gnawed on her lower lip. Finally, she climbed the few steps to where Sam was standing and put her hand on his arm.
He jumped about five feet in the air.
"Sorry!" she hissed urgently, wincing with apology. "Sorry, I just…"
She trailed off, not knowing what to say, what she was just about to do.
He stared at her. He nodded once and started wiping again.
Her hand was still on his arm. Sam was ignoring it beautifully. He made no comment regarding the appendage, did not to try to shake it off… he just went about his business as though her hand wasn't there. It was an odd response, one that felt mildly like rejection and at the same time encouragement.
Lynn stared at her hand. "We did our best," she said lamely.
One bitter snort. That was all the response she got.
In the back of her mind, she was remembering Nebraska. It was hanging over her like some dark, ominous cloud, threatening to force her to retreat back inside herself, to let Sam deal with his own shit.
But the blood on that window… the head inside the flowerbox that she was trying desperately not to look at… the pained, repulsed, grief-stricken expression on Sam's face…
It was all just a little more important than Nebraska, wasn't it?
"I know nothing I say is going to make a difference right now," she told him gently. "But I'll say it anyway… this isn't your fault."
He stopped wiping the railing and looked at her.
There were unshed tears shining in his dark green eyes. "What's the point of all this?" he asked her, sounding just like a scared little boy. "Why would I see it if I can't stop it? It doesn't make any sense."
She shook her head. "I don't know, Sam. I just don't know."
He looked at his feet. She stood there, uselessly, hand on his arm. She thought about telling him her story. Telling him about Inez, and the hoodoo, and the death certificate… her fears that her mother had delved into the dark side, and that somehow, someday, she was going to wind up doing something similar.
She didn't tell him any of that. Partly because she was afraid to. Partly because it felt like an inappropriate time, despite any possibility that her personal crap might be comforting for him to hear.
Bottom line… venting about her mother would help her, not Sam. That's what she decided, ultimately. Her crap could wait until it was her turn to be sad and desperate and terrified. This was Sam's turn right now. They were going to talk about Sam's crap, and Sam's crap only.
Except neither one of them was talking. Because neither one of them knew what to say.
So she just stood there, silently, holding his arm with one hand and wiping prints off the railing with the other.
He started wiping things again too. He didn't move away from her touch.
She took that as a good sign, and tried not to worry.
"What are you doing in here?"
Jayne looked up in surprise at Dean's voice as she ran her EMF over the kitchen counter. He'd been in the living room only moments before, and now he was leaning around the corner, frowning at her in confusion.
She shrugged. "Lynn's idea, not mine. She thought you shouldn't be poking around in here alone."
"She's worried about me, huh?"
He was smirking, looking smug. Jayne smirked back.
"Yep," she said. "So I agreed to come in too, keep an eye on you, watch out for that big bad unknown entity lurking around in here… you know, just in case I need to rescue the damsel in distress."
"Damsel?" he repeated, a smirk still playing around his lips. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest. "Really? I'm oddly flattered."
Jayne shook her head, amused, and returned her attention to the EMF. "Anything so far?" she asked.
"Nope. Place is as clean as the Miller house."
"Fantastic."
They lapsed into quiet, Jayne moving away from the kitchen, trying really hard not to look at Roger Miller's decapitated corpse where it lay sprawled out on the once white, now red linoleum.
She had a stronger stomach than Lynn. She had a lot less sentimentality too. But still… headless, bloody corpse? Not exactly high art.
She joined Dean in the living room. He too was pointedly not looking at the body in the kitchen. "What do you think we're dealing with?" he asked her.
Jayne shrugged. "Lynn suggested witches, or hoodoo… see anything like a hex bag or a weird symbol or…"
"Nah," Dean shook his head. "Nothing like that."
"Lovely. Well, I'm sticking with my curse theory."
"You do that," he returned, picking on her a little. Jayne shot him an annoyed look over her shoulder that she didn't really mean – as much as she hated to admit it. Dean Winchester had a way of getting under her skin… and unfortunately, he also had a way of not getting under her skin when he really should be.
Trying to figure out exactly how this smug, sarcastic, annoying, womanizing tough guy had ended up becoming her best friend made her brain hurt. Seriously, it defied all logic.
"I'm thinking a vengeful spirit," Dean brainstormed.
"Oh, yes. A spirit. Because the whole lack of EMF activity totally supports that theory."
"Yeah, well, maybe it's latched onto the men of the Miller family, you know? Not their property. Like a banshee or something."
"Hmm. Maybe."
They fell quiet again, roving through the apartment, heading towards the bedroom.
"I know," Dean said suddenly. "It just doesn't feel like it fits, right?"
Jayne looked at him, surprised. "No," she agreed. "None of it does."
He sighed and shook his head. "Sammy's starting to get really freaked out."
"Well, I guess he's entitled to."
"What he said in the car… it's true, you know? I mean, if Sam wasn't my brother… what he's going through right now… other hunters might…"
"Chill," she cut him off.
She knew exactly what he was getting at, what he was trying so hard to ask without asking. He wanted to know how she really felt about Sam; how she and Lynn really felt about all of this… he was scared for his brother.
Which was pretty damn silly, if you asked her. He knew perfectly well what her brother was capable of.
"So the kid has visions," she shrugged. "Not exactly a hanging offense. Besides, no one needs to know about it outside the four of us."
Dean nodded.
"And anyway," she went on, keeping her tone as casual as she could. "Not like Lynn or I are in any position to get judgmental about it. I mean, Stephen…"
She trailed off, not wanting to go any further. In fact, she wasn't entirely sure where she would go.
Dean nodded again. "Right. I almost forgot."
She snorted, bitter. "Lucky you," she muttered.
They finished poking through the house in silence. Their search left them empty-handed.
It was a long climb down the fire escape and a pained walk back to the Impala. Sam and Dean were throwing out suggestions about what they were facing off with left and right. Lynn was being all too quiet, her arms folded across her chest. Jayne too was quiet, but that was pretty normal for her. She listened carefully to what Sam and Dean were saying as they all clambered back into the car and Dean started the ignition.
Nothing much changed on the ride back to the motel. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Sam had decided they would look up where the Millers had last lived, check out their old house, and then talk to some people who might have known them.
It seemed logical enough. Jayne brooked no arguments, and neither did Lynn. The four hunters split up into their two motel rooms and got some sleep.
At least, that was the plan. Jayne didn't sleep. She lay awake for some time, staring at the ceiling. Judging by the lack of snores from Lynn's side of the room, she had a feeling her stepsister was doing the same.
It wouldn't surprise her in the slightest if Sam and Dean were laying awake too, staring at their ceiling, too anxious and confused to fall asleep.
The Impala rolled up alongside the curb and stopped. Sam threw the car into park, thoughts swirling. He glanced over at the passenger side of the car.
Lynn sat quietly beside him, her teeth working away on her lower lip, her eyes worried and trained on the windshield. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her chest.
It was the sort of neighborhood you saw in a big city, with houses narrow, cramped and tall, all different and yet somehow fundamentally the same. He looked at the house that matched the Miller family's old address. It was cramped and narrow and tall like its neighbors, painted blue.
Outside the car was a gray haired man raking leaves in the yard across the street from the blue house. Sam glanced at Lynn.
"Want to talk to the locals first?" he asked, voice hoarse.
She nodded, forcing a smile in his direction. "Yeah. Sounds like a plan."
They got out of the car at the same time, slamming the doors almost simultaneously, approaching the man in question with determination… everything synced and practiced, like they were Scully and Mulder.
He shook his head. Massive amounts of repressed, unresolved sexual tension… so not a good comparison.
"Hello!" Lynn called out, smiling brightly at the gray haired man.
The man looked up from his raking. He took one look at Lynn's smiling face and lit up, smiling back.
It wasn't creepy or perverse. The guy just got smiled at by a pretty woman, and he liked it.
Sam knew how he felt, because he liked it when Lynn smiled at him too.
Except he wasn't really sure if she'd ever smile at him again. He fucked up big time back in Nebraska, and even though she'd attempted to comfort him the night before, even though she had been friendly on the drive over, Sam still thought she would never forgive him.
He couldn't really blame her if she didn't.
"Hello," the man said. "You folks lose your way?"
"Not exactly," Sam smiled. "My name is Sam. This is Lynn. We wanted to ask you a few questions about the neighborhood."
Lynn nodded beside him, still smiling brightly at the older man. "It's really pretty here," she commented.
"Oh, it's a nice neighborhood," the man agreed, lighting up at Lynn's remark. "Real quiet."
"Have you lived here long?" Sam asked.
"About twenty years. Why? You two looking to buy?"
He winked.
Sam shifted uncomfortably.
"Not exactly," Lynn spoke up, giving the man another smile – this one a tad forced. "Actually, we were hoping you might remember a family that used to live across the street. The Millers?"
"Yeah," Sam added. "They had a little boy?"
The smile faded from the man's face. "Yeah, I remember them. Their brother had the place right next door."
Both Lynn and Sam turned to look at the house the man was pointing at, surprised. That was a development they had not expected.
"So what's this about?" the man asked. "That poor kid ok?"
Sam hadn't expected that question, either. "What do you mean?"
The man glanced down at the pavement, smile definitely gone now. "Well, in my life, I never saw a child treated like that. "I mean, I'd hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street. He was a mean drunk. Used to beat the tar out of Max. Broke his arm two times that I know of."
Lynn looked thunderstruck. Sam felt the way she looked. "This was going on regularly?" he asked.
The man looked still more downcast. "Practically every day. In fact, that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy. But the worst part was the stepmother. She'd just stand there, checked out, never lifted a finger to protect him… I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good."
They were quiet a moment. Sam could feel his head starting to throb.
"His stepmother, you said?" Lynn asked. "Then Mrs. Miller wasn't…?"
Sam clutched at his forehead, blinding pain rippling through his skull, as the neighbor shook his head. "No. I think his real mom died. Some sort of accident… car accident, I think."
Sam winced, making a small, strangled noise of pain. His head was on fire. "You ok there?" he heard the neighbor ask.
"Sam?" Lynn asked in concern. He felt her come to his side more than he saw her do anything. She grabbed his arm, one hand resting on his chest. "Sam?"
"I'll be fine," he said breathlessly. "I'll be fine."
He took his hand from his head, forcing his eyes open. The sky was overcast, but the gray, dim light still burned.
"Thank you for your time," Lynn told the man with the gray hair, sincere but firm.
"Yes," Sam nodded as she took his arm and practically dragged him back towards the Impala. "Thank you."
Lynn flung open the door to the passenger seat as the world around Sam began to go white. He felt her thrust him downwards into the car as his vision fled and his knees went weak. He sat, collapsing against the back of the seat, vaguely hearing the door slam.
And then he was gone.
"I don't know what you mean by that… you know I never did anything…"
Chopchopchopchop! Celery diced to perfection on a wooden cutting board with a large knife…
"Exactly! You never did anything; you never stopped them… not once!"
Curly blonde hair… face red and distorted... angry… close to sobbing…
A knife swinging up, floating six feet off the ground…a frightened gasp…
"I'm sorry…"
"No, you're not. You just don't want to die."
Knife glinting in the gray light… swinging back and forth as it floated, in the air, in the middle of the kitchen…
Swish!
Splat!
Knife flying forwards, carving right through an eye… blood splattering on the white kitchen wall.
Sam Winchester woke up.
He was sitting in the passenger seat of the Impala. Lynn was at the wheel, guiding the car down the residential roads, riding the back bumper of the white Grand Prix ahead of them.
She glanced at him when he gasped, struggling to sit up. "Sam?" she asked anxiously. "Are you all right?"
"Oh, crap," he muttered, staring at the car that was far too close to their front end. "Dean is going to kill me when he finds out I let you drive."
"Then we won't tell him," she retorted. "Answer me, Sam. Are you all right?"
"It's Max."
She stared.
"Eyes on the road, Lynn!"
She snapped her head back towards the windshield, but didn't back off the bumper of the Grand Prix. Sam winced.
"What are you talking about?" she demanded.
"I had another one… I…"
"Yeah, I figured that part out," she spat. "What do you mean, it's Max?"
"I saw him. He's going to kill his stepmother. We have to get to the Miller house right now!"
Lynn's fingers tightened on the wheel. Then she hit the gas, passed the car in front of them, got flipped the bird from the driver of the Grand Prix, and took a swerving, too fast left at the stop sign… a stop sign at which she didn't stop so much as pause.
"Crap, Lynn!"
"Max is killing everyone? His dad, his uncle, and now…"
"Yeah," Sam nodded, fishing his phone out of his jeans.
"How?"
"It looked like telekinesis," Sam replied, scrolling down through his address book, searching for Dean's number.
"Telekinesis? Max Miller is Carrie?"
"Yeah."
"Well… how are we going to stop him, Sam?"
"We'll talk to him… reason with him…"
"Reason with him? Sam…"
"Just get there, all right?"
She fell silent. Hit the gas harder.
Sam sighed and called Dean.
Dean flopped down heavily in the chair across the table. Jayne looked up at him, raising her eyebrow.
"I'm bored," he announced.
She shrugged. "So?"
"So why are we sitting in this motel room doing research? We're the field people. Sam and Lynn are the geek squad."
"Because apparently we don't play well with others," Jayne retorted. "So we're not allowed to interview the Millers' old neighbors."
"I play well with others. You're the prickly one."
Jayne snorted. "Well, I guess Sam just doesn't trust you after that stunt you pulled with the priest costume."
"That was a genius plan!"
"Sam didn't agree."
"That's because Sam's no fun."
"Probably."
"What do you got?"
"Nothing. You?"
"Same."
Silence.
"I think it's hilarious that Sam and Lynn went off together," Jayne commented, off hand. "I wonder if they're even talking right now."
"What, they have a fight?"
"Uh… yeah?"
"When?"
"When? Are you kidding me?"
He shrugged, blank faced.
Jayne stared at him incredulously. "Nebraska?"
"They got into a fight in Nebraska?"
"Wow. You know, I hate to be sexist… but maybe there's some truth to the whole guys don't notice shit theory."
"Hey, I was dying! Excuse me if I wasn't paying attention to a whole lot!"
"Yeah, yeah."
"What did they fight about?"
"I don't know if I want to say. If Sam didn't tell you, maybe you're not supposed to know."
"Seriously, Goldilocks? You gonna do me like that?"
Silence.
Dean sighed and poked her. "Come on, I want to know!"
"You're like that little boy who won't stop fussing in church."
"Tell me!"
"Lynn was pissed because Sam was ignoring her."
"Why was Sam ignoring her?"
"Because they fucked, and he regretted it."
Again, silence.
"What?"
"I think you heard me just fine."
"Sammy got laid?"
"Yeah. By my stepsister. So… please don't be a pig about it."
"I wasn't going to!"
"You so were."
"When did that happen?"
"Right before you checked out of the hospital."
"Really?"
"Mm-hmm."
"And now he's ignoring her?"
"Well, he was."
"Wow. My brother's an idiot."
"Yeah. I can finally see the family resemblance."
"Bite me."
She frowned at him. "You realize you're gossiping right now, right?"
Dean scoffed. "Am not!"
"Are too."
"Nu-uh… we're talking, not gossiping."
"This is called gossip."
"I don't gossip. Girls do that."
"And just when I think maybe you aren't a sexist jackass…"
"So is Lynn still upset?"
Jayne stared at him. He stared back.
"Well… yeah," she said quietly. "I suppose she is."
Silence.
"You know, Sammy's not like that."
"Not like what?"
"Me."
Jayne stared at him. This time, he didn't stare back.
"I'm the one who screws 'em and leaves 'em. Sam's not that guy. He wouldn't mess with your sister that way."
"Well, he did."
"Yeah, but he's not a bad guy," Dean defended his brother. "He's not. It's probably a Jessica thing."
"If your brother's not over Jessica, then he shouldn't be under Lynn. Or on top of her, whatever. I didn't get the details."
"And now I'll see that seriously disturbing mental picture every time I close my eyes. Thank you for that."
"Anytime."
Dean's phone rang. Well, actually, it played the opening notes to "Smoke on the Water." He fished the phone out of his jeans and flipped it open, putting it to his ear.
"What?"
Jayne watched his face go from mildly annoyed to sheer panic in less than two seconds.
"What? Slow down… ok. I don't… another one? You all right?"
Pause.
"You sure… wait, what? You've… Max? But how… what?"
Dean was flipping out. He was out of his chair and pacing, flinging one arm around, shouting nonsense.
Jayne got up slowly and took a step towards him.
He fell quiet for awhile, listening to the voice on the other end. Then he said, "All right. Ok, man. We're on our way."
He snapped the cell shut and looked her in the eye. "That was Sam," he announced. "He had another vision."
Jayne frowned. "Another one?"
Dean nodded. "Yeah. It's Max Miller. He's the killer. Apparently he's got, like… some sort of psychic power."
"Psychic power?"
Those two words shook Jayne to her core, but she didn't tell him that.
"Yeah. Telekinesis. We've got to get to the Miller house, before he ends his stepmom. Let's go."
Jayne grabbed her keys and her gun and ran for her truck. Dean was on her heels. They jumped into the truck, and Jayne turned over the engine, stomping on the gas and peeling out of the parking lot.
"I don't get it," she said as she drove. "Why's Max killing off his own family?"
"Sam said he used to get beat on when he was a kid. By his father and his uncle."
"All right… well, that explains the father and the uncle, but… what did the stepmom do?"
Dean shrugged. "Let them?"
Silence.
She weaved in and out of traffic, rounding corners at high speeds and hesitating at stops. "What are we going to about it?" she asked hesitantly.
"Stop him."
"How?"
"You know how."
Jayne did know how, and any other day of the week, she'd be right there with Dean, itching to pull a trigger and plant a bullet in the killer's brain. But this wasn't the same.
"You want to kill him."
"I don't want to kill him. But if that's what it takes…"
"Those people beat on him. Made his life a living hell. Is it really so bad…"
"Doesn't matter."
"Bull shit. It does too."
"Well, what the hell are we supposed to do, Jayne? Just let him go around killing people?"
"No…"
"Then what? You want to call the cops? Lock him up officer, he kills with the power of his mind?"
"Of course not."
"Then what? You want to talk to him? Reason with him?"
"I… not exactly."
"You want to walk away?"
Silence.
"Yes."
"Are you kidding me right now?"
"I don't know. I just… I don't know if I can really sympathize with the people he killed. If they spent his childhood kicking the crap out of him…"
"You want to take the risk he's going to kill someone else? Someone who doesn't deserve it?"
Silence.
"Tell the truth. Are you dead set on killing him because he has psychic powers?"
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Dean… I don't want to kill this kid, ok?"
Silence.
"Yeah, well… Sam will probably agree with you, so I wouldn't worry about it."
More silence.
"You're pissed at me, aren't you?"
"No."
"Yes."
"I'm done talking about it."
Silence.
"Fine."
Sam leaned against the Impala, waiting impatiently for Dean and Jayne to arrive. Lynn stood on the other side of the car, examining her fingernails and playing with cords on her hooded sweatshirt.
They weren't talking much, and he felt weird about that. The silence wasn't awkward or unfriendly – exactly. But it wasn't comfortable either.
He'd really fucked this up, hadn't he?
A familiar rumble assailed his ears, and moments later, Jayne's old gray truck came into view. He watched anxiously as the truck came rolling down the street, swerving around the Impala and parking directly in front of it.
The engine shut down. Dean and Jayne jumped down from the cab and approached Sam and Lynn.
"Follow my lead," Sam ordered. "Don't bring your guns."
"Fuck that," Jayne said, at the same time Dean said, "No way, man."
Sam shook his head, sighing. "Will you just let me handle this? My way?"
"Look, I don't want to kill the kid either," Jayne spoke up. Sam blinked in surprise. "But you really expect me to leave my best line of defense out here? What if the Psychic Wonder loses it and goes after one of us?"
"Just… please!"
"Hey, I promise not to shoot the kid until you're done with your Dear Abby speech," Dean said. "All right? I promise I'll do things your way. But I'm bringing the gun."
It was the best promise he was going to get, so Sam conceded. "Fine," he rolled his eyes. "But don't talk. Just follow me."
They did. He rushed for the Miller house, and the other three hunters followed close on his heels.
When they burst through the front door without knocking, it was safe to say they'd shocked the crap out of Max and his stepmother.
Sam saw them standing in the kitchen, a large, shiny, familiar knife on the counter between them, and knew immediately that he and the other three hunters had just barely arrived in time.
"Fathers…?" Mrs. Miller asked in confusion, taking a step out of the kitchen. She frowned at Jayne and Lynn, who she was seeing for the first time. "Uh…?"
"What are you doing here?" Max asked, his tone low and almost… creepy.
"Uh…" Dean fumbled. "Sorry to interrupt."
"Hi," Sam said, forcing his understanding clergyman smile onto his face. "Um, Max… we were wondering if we could just talk to you outside for a few minutes?"
"What about?" Max asked.
Sam didn't like the look on Max's face. "Um… it's private," he said. "I wouldn't want to bother your mother with it."
Max looked suspiciously over Sam's shoulder at the two women he hadn't met yet.
"Who are they?" he asked.
Sam glanced back at Jayne and Lynn. He faltered.
"We're counselors for the church's YA group?" Lynn replied sweetly. Sam could have kissed her. "I'm Lynn, this is Jayne. That's actually what we're here about… the YA program? We thought you might want to get involved, give back a little… you'd be surprised how much it helps with the grieving process."
Max stared at her.
"Please," Sam added, smiling, nodding, trying to will Max out the front door with his eyes. "It'll only take a minute."
Max stared at Sam.
"Ok," he said finally.
Slowly, Max made his way towards the door. Sam smiled at him reassuringly, falling into step behind him. Lynn gave him a smile too from her place by the door.
Dean attempted to smile too, but Jayne didn't. Sam noticed her slipping off into the shadows, watching Max carefully. Dean reached for the doorknob.
The door was only opened an inch before it suddenly jerked itself from Dean's hand and slammed shut. All around the bottom floor of the house, the windows and blinds and shutters began snapping shut.
"You're not priests!" Max shouted.
Dean whipped out his gun.
The gun yanked itself out of Dean's grip and hit the floor, sliding across the foyer and stopping at Max's feet.
"Max!" Mrs. Miller exclaimed as her windows shut themselves up all around her and her stepson reached for Dean's gun. "Max! What's going on?"
Jayne pulled her gun.
It flew from her hand, across the entrance way, and beamed Mrs. Miller in the head. The older woman stumbled backwards into the kitchen counter, bouncing off and crumpling to the floor.
"Shut up!" Max shouted at her. "Just shut up!"
The gun slid across the kitchen tile, landing somewhere under the refrigerator.
Max pointed Dean's pistol at the four hunters by the staircase.
"Max, calm down!" Sam exclaimed.
"Who are you?"
"We just want to talk to you."
"Yeah, right!" Max shouted hysterically, clutching his temple and waving the gun around recklessly. "That's why you brought this!"
The situation was escalating fast, and Sam knew he had to bring it back under control somehow. He had to talk Max down, get him to stop pointing that gun around. Talk to him, try to make him understand there were better ways he could be using his powers.
"That was a mistake," he said. Dean was beside him, antsy, and Sam stepped in front of his brother, trying to bring Max's focus entirely on himself. "All right? So was lying about who we were, but no more lying Max! Please! Just hear me out!"
"About what?"
Sam saw Jayne by the living room window, eyeing Max's unguarded back. He shot her a warning look, and she rolled her eyes, but backed down.
"I saw you do it," he told Max.
Max's hand on the gun shook.
"I saw you kill your dad and your uncle before it happened."
"What?"
"I'm having visions, Max, about you."
"You're crazy."
"So you weren't going to launch a knife at your stepmom?" Sam asked, tapping the skin under his eyes with his finger. "Right here? Is it that crazy, Max? Look at what you can do!"
Max looked like a wild animal backed into a corner. He glanced all around him helplessly, still shaking the gun.
"Max, I was drawn here all right? I think I'm here to help you."
"No one can help me!"
"Let me try. We'll just talk, ok? We'll get everyone else out of here."
"Uh-uh," Dean interceded. "No way."
The chandelier above Sam and Dean's heads began to shake. Both brothers looked up, wincing. Lynn backed away from the center hall, moving towards her stepsister.
"Nobody leaves this house!" Max shouted.
"And nobody has to, all right?" Sam said. "They'll just… they'll just go upstairs."
"Sam, I'm not leaving you alone with him," Dean argued.
"Yes you are," Sam returned, before focusing on Max again. "Look, you're in charge here. We all know that. No one's going to do anything that you don't want to do. But I'm talking five minutes here, man."
"Sam…" Dean growled.
"Five minutes," Max agreed.
The chandelier stopped shaking. Everyone stared at the boy with the gun in shock.
"Go," he ordered.
Sam shot Dean a pleading look. His brother wasn't happy about it, but Dean stomped to the kitchen and scooped Mrs. Miller off the floor. Her head was bleeding, and she could barely stand on her own.
Lynn headed into the kitchen to help. Between the two of them, they managed to get the older woman upright. The two of them supported her to the staircase and half carried her to the second floor.
Jayne followed them up slowly, her eyes first on Max, and then on Sam. Sam nodded at her. She nodded back, although she didn't look anywhere near convinced, and continued the climb up the stairs.
Sam turned to Max. Max lowered the gun. The two of them took seats in the living room.
Awkward would be an understatement.
Max levitated a letter opener off the end table by the sofa he was sitting on. He turned it point down and let it stand on the tabletop, staring at it.
"Look," Sam said. "I can't even begin to understand what you went through…"
"That's right. You can't."
"Max. This has to stop."
"And it will. After my stepmother."
"No," Sam argued. "You need to let her go."
"Why?"
"Did she beat you?"
"No. But she never tried to save me. She's a part of it too."
"Look, what they did to you… what they all did to you… growing up… they deserved to be punished…"
"Growing up?" Max snapped. "Try last week!"
He stood off the couch, and lifted his sweatshirt. Sam had to avert his eyes. His torso was a mass of black and blue bruises, one long, angry red line running diagonally across the top of his ribcage. "My dad still hit me," he growled at Sam. "Just in places people couldn't see."
He lowered the shirt and took his seat again on the couch. "Old habits die hard, I guess."
"I'm sorry," Sam murmured.
Max stared at the knife still standing on the table. It had begun to spin, madly, like a basketball on the finger of a Harlem Globetrotter. His eyes were wet, and his breathing shallow. "When I first found out I could move things," Max said. "It was a gift. My whole life I had been helpless, but now I had this. So last week, Dad gets drunk, and he beats me to hell. First time in a long time. And then I knew what I had to do."
"Why didn't you just leave?"
The knife clattered to the table. "It wasn't about getting away. Just knowing that they'd still be out there… it was about not being afraid. When my dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?"
Sam's gut clenched. "No."
"He blamed me for everything. For his job, for his life… for my mom's death..."
"Why would he blame you for your mom's death?"
Max leaned forward, trembling. "Because she died in my nursery, while I was asleep in my crib. As if that makes it my fault!"
Sam did a double take. "She died in your nursery?"
"Yeah. There was a fire."
Sam's eyes went wide, and he started to tremble a little too. His mother… Max's mother… Jayne's mother…
"And he'd get drunk," Max pushed on. "And babble on like she died in some insane way. He said that she burned up – pinned to the ceiling!"
Sam stopped breathing for a moment. When he started up again, his breath was shallow and quick.
"Listen to me, Max," he said. "What your dad said about what happened to your mom… it's real."
"What?"
"It happened to my mom too. Exactly the same. My nursery, my crib… my dad saw her on the ceiling…"
"Then your dad must have been as drunk as mine."
"No! No, it's the same thing, Max! The same thing killed out mothers!"
"That's impossible!"
"This must be why I'm having visions during the day," Sam went on, more to himself than to Max. "Why they're getting more intense. Because you and I must be connected in some way. Your abilities… they started six, seven months ago, right? Out of the blue?"
"How did you know that?"
"Because that's when my abilities started, Max! I mean, yours seem to be much further along, but still… this… this means something! Right? I mean, for some reason, you and I… you and I were chosen."
The minute the words left his mouth, Sam felt foolish. Chosen? It sounded like a bad horror movie. Like the pilot episode to Charmed… or Buffy the Vampire Slayer. But still… there had to be a reason. There had to be. He didn't believe in coincidences.
"Chosen for what?" Max asked, and Sam had to admit it was a good question.
"I don't know. But Dean… my brother and I… and Lynn and her stepsister, Jayne… it happened to them too, Max. It was their little brother. Jayne's mother died in his nursery, just like ours. And he has abilities too, just like us. Look… my brother and I… and the two of them… we've been hunting for your mother's killer, Max. And maybe we can find some answers. But you have to let us go."
Max stared.
"You've got to let your stepmother go," Sam added.
Max thought about it. Sam could see the gears turning in the other young man's mind as he lowered his eyes to the living room carpet.
Sam felt hopeful, for a split second. Then Max started shaking his head.
"No," he said. "What they did to me… I still have nightmares. I'm still scared, all the time, like I'm just waiting for the next beating."
He leapt to his feet and started rushing for the stairs. "I'm just tired of being scared! If I do this it'll be over!"
Sam got up too, chasing him. "Look, don't you get it? It won't! The nightmares won't end, Max. Not like this. It's just… more pain. And it makes you as bad as them. Max… you don't have to go through all this by yourself."
Max shook his head and looked Sam in the eye. "I'm sorry."
And then Sam was thrown backwards, into the coat closet by the stairs. The doors slammed shut in front of his face.
"No, Max!" Sam shouted, pounding on the doors.
A heavy armoire dragged itself in front of the closet, effectively sealing Sam inside.
"No! Max!"
He heard Max run up the stairs. And then splitting pain ripped through Sam's skull.
Max walking down the hall…. the door to the master bedroom swinging slowly open, on its own…
Mrs. Miller sitting on the edge of the bed… Lynn dabbing at her bleeding forehead with a wet washcloth…
Max pulling the gun…
Dean stepping in front of the two of them…
Dean sailing backwards into the wall, shattering the drywall, hitting the floor, cussing…
Jayne going to his side…
The gun levitating in the middle of the room, cocking itself…
Pointing itself at Mrs. Miller… at Lynn, when she stood up, tried to put herself in front of the older woman…
Jayne stepping in front of both of them, ignoring the gun pointed at her head…
"… can't have you pointing that gun at my stepsister…"
"… She was supposed to protect me…"
"… lots of people are cowards… she wasn't the one hitting you… you want to kill one of them, you're going to have to go through me…"
"Ok."
Dean getting to his feet in the corner of the room…
The trigger pulling itself…
Dean throwing himself into Jayne's side, knocking her to the floor…
The gunshot echoing throughout the room… the bullet burning through Dean's forehead… the blood splattering against the bedroom wall…
Dean's eyes wide open, staring vacantly, as he lay dead on the floor…
Sam's vision came back and he could see the closet door.
"No!" he shouted, throwing himself against the doors. It was a pointless move.
"No!" he roared. "Dean!"
There was a loud scraping noise outside the closet.
Sudden light streamed in through the shuttered seams of the closet door.
The armoire was no longer in Sam's way.
He stared momentarily, shocked.
Then he remembered Dean and threw his weight into the closet door, smashing his way out.
Sam ran for it, up the stairs and down the hall, desperate to save his older brother.
Jayne leaned against the bedroom wall with her arms folded across her chest, and stared at her stepsister.
Lynn was kneeling beside the large bed. Mrs. Miller sat on the edge of the bed, whimpering as Lynn dabbed at her forehead with a wet washcloth.
Dean was stationed nearby, pacing like a caged carnivore.
Her thoughts were all jumbled up. Not for the first time, she wondered if she honestly didn't know the difference between right and wrong,
Because right now, she knew that Max's father and uncle probably deserved to die.
At the very least, she couldn't blame the kid for wanting to kill them.
It was probably wrong. They were human and all that bull. But they were also a couple of whoresons of bitches, and she doubted anyone in the world was going to miss them very much.
She stared at the whimpering, fragile woman sitting on the bed.
What she did to Max… well, she couldn't blame the kid for being pissed at her either.
But it was so obvious – at least, from where Jayne stood – that this woman was not a bully. She was not abusive. She was the last person to raise a hand to anybody.
She was scared. Back when Max was growing up, the woman had probably been just as scared as the kid was.
She was a coward, not a villain.
Jayne decided that killing her would be crossing the line. It was a shaky distinction, but one she was going to stick with.
That's when the bedroom door creaked open.
Max stepped through the bedroom door, moving too slow and too calm.
He approached the bed.
Shit, was the only thought that went through Jayne's head.
Max pulled Dean's gun.
"Max," Mrs. Miller gasped.
Lynn got up quickly. Jayne moved off the wall.
Dean stepped determinedly between Max and the two women, staring the shaking kid down.
Then suddenly, Dean was airborne. He sailed into the bedroom wall, denting and splintering the drywall, and then hit the floor.
"Goddamn it," he muttered, trying to sit up. "Son of a bitch…"
Jayne found herself at his side before she fully realized she'd started walking. She knelt down beside him, her hand finding his shoulder.
"Are you all right?" she demanded.
He looked over her shoulder with wide eyes. Jayne followed his gaze and quickly saw why. The gun had left Max's hand, and was now floating in the air, pointed directly at Mrs. Miller.
Lynn stepped in front of the other woman. Jayne went immediately to her feet.
"Move," Max ordered Lynn.
Lynn shook her head, eyes trained on the gun as it cocked by itself, still floating in the air. "Can't do that, Max," she said quietly.
"Move!" the kid bellowed.
Jayne had already decided she wasn't going to let this kid murder his stepmother. But more importantly? There was no way in hell Max Miller was hurting her stepsister.
"Whoa, man," she said, stepping in front of Lynn and Mrs. Miller with her hand up and out. "Look, I'm not saying what you did to your dad and your uncle was wrong. Believe me; ain't no love lost there. But I can't have you pointing that gun at my sister."
"Get out of my way!" Max thundered, shaking, his face going red.
"Not a chance," she told him. "You need to put that gun down… or levitate it down, whatever… and walk away. The fight's done."
"After everything she did?" Max spat. "She never stopped them, not once! She just stood there and watched, pretended everything was all right… I was a kid! She was supposed to protect me!"
"So she was a coward," Jayne returned. "Lots of people are. We can't blame them for being scared. It's not a hanging offense. At least she wasn't the one hitting you. You got to let it go."
"I can't."
"You got to," Jayne said. "Because I'm not moving out of the way. I'm not letting you hurt my sister… or your stepmom. You want to kill one of them, you're going to have to go through me."
Max stared at her.
"Ok," he said.
He pulled the trigger.
Bang!
A hard body slammed into Jayne from the left as the gunshot echoed throughout the bedroom. She toppled to the floor, heavy weight on top of her, pinning her underneath it.
She twisted under the weight, rolling onto her back, trying to get away from the arm around her waist, the arm under her neck. She blinked up in shock at the face hovering over hers.
Dean.
Stupid, stupid, reckless Dean.
Panic gripped her insides as she remembered the shot, and her fingers rested on his chest, running up and down, over his tee shirt, feeling the hard muscle underneath. He stared at her, wide-eyed, looking as panicked as she felt. She tried to ask him if he was all right, but no sound came out of her mouth. She opened and closed it uselessly, her eyes traveling from his dark, beautiful green eyes, to his chest, and then back again.
Then she saw the hole in the wall, by the in suite bathroom. The dry wall was still shattered from Dean's impact, but there was no blood. There was no blood anywhere.
No one had been hit.
And Sam had appeared in the bedroom as well. He must have appeared just as Max was firing his gun, because the gun was now lying on the floor, several feet from Max Miller, and the twenty-something kid was screaming at Sam for ruining everything.
In all the confusion, she couldn't quite hear what Sam was shouting at the kid, but it sounded like he was trying to talk down a jumper. Dean was getting to his feet, and Jayne sat up, still half trapped beneath him, but intent on moving, on doing something.
The gun rose off the floor by itself – courtesy of Max's telekinetic powers – and threw itself across the room, right into Max's hand.
"No!" Sam shouted. "Max, what you're doing…. it's not the solution. It's not going to fix anything."
Dean stood. Jayne followed suit. Max stared at Sam, twitching and breathless, on the verge of sobs.
"You're right."
Bang!
"No!" Sam shouted.
Blood exploded on the far bedroom wall. Max Miller slumped to the floor, dead.
The cops were talking to Mrs. Miller.
Lynn and Sam had already given their statements, and they were standing behind the sofa as Mrs. Miller sat on it, trying to answer all the policeman's questions while sobbing her heart out.
"I've lost everyone," she whimpered, and Lynn's heart nearly broke in two.
Sam shook his head, eyes on the floor. Lynn resented Dean and Jayne for ducking out of the house the way they had, leaving her alone with an obviously despondent Sam Winchester. It wasn't that she objected to comforting him… she just couldn't believe their insensitivity.
It didn't occur to her that maybe they were as shook up as the rest of them.
Lynn reached out for Sam's hand and wrapped it in her own, squeezing gently.
He glanced at her, startled. Then, to her great surprise, he squeezed back.
When the cop gave them permission to go, the two of them disappeared out the front door. Lynn caught sight of Jayne and Dean leaning against Janis down by the street, talking in quiet tones.
She stood still on the porch, beside Sam. Sam wasn't moving anytime soon, she could see that right off the bat.
"Sam," she said softly. "Can you do me a favor?"
He looked surprised again. "Sure. What?"
"Can you please not torture yourself?"
Sam stared at her a moment. "What?" he asked finally.
"I know exactly what's going through your head right now," Lynn told him firmly. "And this is not your fault. That kid was messed up. You couldn't have saved him. I don't know if anyone could have."
Sam looked at the front stoop. "I should have… the way he looked at me, Lynn. I should have…"
"It's not your fault," she insisted. "And no, you aren't going to become him."
Sam lifted his head too quickly, clearly surprised. He gawked at her.
"You won't," Lynn said. "I know you won't. You're one of the best people I know. And I also know that my little brother could never do any of the things that Max did in there. So I know you're going to be ok too."
Silence.
"Lynn," Sam murmured.
"Yeah?"
"How did you…?"
"I know the way you think. Let's just leave it at that."
More silence.
"You should hate me."
"What?"
"Come on. We both remember what happened the last time we were together. I was pretty damn sure you hated me, Lynn. Why are you…?"
"I don't hate you."
"Ok."
They stood awkwardly on the porch for a moment. Sam scratched at his hair. "Lynn," he sighed. "It's ok, you know. You don't have to help me or… I know what I did. You can hate me if you need to."
She stared at him.
"Sam," she whispered, shaking her head. "I'm not going to hate you, ok? I don't think I ever could. You just… you just really piss me off sometimes, that's all."
He laughed a little, sounding sheepish. He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets.
"Let's just move past all the ugly, all right?" Lynn said. "I don't really have it in me to hold grudges, anyway. Never did."
He smiled.
"Ok," he said softly. "I'd like that."
She smiled back and took his hand again, giving it a gentle, comforting squeeze.
"Good," she grinned. "I'd like that too."
Dean couldn't be in that house any longer.
That sobbing woman on the sofa, her whole family gone… the cops crawling all over the house… he had to get out.
When he stepped out the front door, he saw Jayne down by the street, her back against her truck bed, leaning on her back bumper. Her arms were crossed over her chest and she was staring at the back of his car.
Dean made his way down to the street. He stepped off the curb and leaned beside her on the truck.
"Hey," he said.
She glanced briefly at him. "Hey."
Silence.
"Couldn't stand the cops, huh?" he asked jokingly.
"Nope. The fuzz, man… they make my blood boil in rage."
Her flat emotionless tone made it clear she was kidding.
Dean smirked. "Me too."
They lapsed into another silence.
"Sam saved your ass in there," Jayne remarked.
Dean scoffed. "Well, it was about time. Number of times I've saved his…"
She snorted. "Right. Sure. Uh-huh."
"Shut it, Goldilocks."
Silence.
"Was supposed to be my ass."
She didn't look at him as she spoke. Dean looked at her though.
"You're welcome."
"You think I'm going to thank you?"
"More like I was hoping."
"You fucking idiot," she hissed.
He stared.
"Don't ever try to take a bullet for me ever again."
"Wow. Gratitude. Charming."
And she looked at him.
She glared at him, actually. Dean frowned at her. Jayne's lip was trembling and her eyes were wet.
"If I step in front of a gun," she told him. "Then that's my choice. And you are not supposed to throw yourself into the line of fire."
He glared back.
"So I just stand by and watch you get shot down?" he retorted. "Not happening."
"Why the hell not?"
"Because you're my friend, damn it!"
Silence. Jayne's fury did not abate, but no more words came out of her mouth.
Dean broke the quiet.
"I can't just let you die."
She stared at him.
"Well, I can't just let you die. How do you think I'd feel, knowing you were dead because of me?"
"Bad?"
"Obviously, smartass."
"Well, I don't give a damn. You don't die on my watch."
"Wrong. That's not how this works. You don't die on my watch."
Silence.
Dean stared at her. She stared back. She still looked angry, but there was something else there now. He felt it too. He couldn't name it, but its presence was undeniable.
"Well," he said finally. "We are in quite the conundrum."
She rolled her eyes and huffed, turning from him and sagging back against her truck.
"Obviously the problem would be solved if you'd just stop being reckless and moronic."
He chuckled. "Oh, really? Because I think the problem would be solved if you stopped pretending to be the lady knight."
Jayne glared at him. "If you get to be reckless, then so do I."
They were quiet for a while, glaring at one another, and yet not really glaring. Almost smiling, actually.
"How about we agree to disagree?" Dean asked amicably.
She raised her eyebrow. "Agree to disagree? Are you joking? This is a sort of a heavy issue."
"So?"
"So it's not like we're debating how to pronounce tomato, Dean. You want to agree to disagree about which one of us gets to risk their life?"
"Well, I don't really see any other option," he shrugged. "Because I don't see you backing down anytime soon, and I sure as hell know that I won't. So… we agree to disagree."
She stared at him for what felt like ages, through narrowed eyes, her arms still folded.
"All right," she said finally. "Deal."
Then she leaned back against the truck and they lapsed back into their silence.
"Did Sam tell you?" Dean finally asked.
"About Max?"
He nodded.
She nodded back. "Yeah. Fire in the nursery, six month birthday, Mommy on the ceiling. Weird shit, all this."
Silence.
"I think he's worried about it."
"I think he's allowed to be."
"Are you worried about it?"
"Nah. Are you?"
"Nah."
And then it was silent again.
"Do you think… do you think Sam's a cambion?"
Her sudden question startled him. Dean whipped his head in Jayne's direction, frowning incredulously. "A what?"
Jayne wouldn't look at him. Her eyes were flicking from one Impala headlight to the other as she leaned against the truck bed, chewing her lip nervously.
"A cambion," she repeated, after a long hesitation. "Half human, half demon. Incubus offspring."
Dean stared silent and slack-jawed at her.
"They have special powers," she added, her voice going up at the end as though she were asking a question, rather than stating a fact. "Psychic powers."
She didn't go on, and Dean needed a moment to process. When he did speak, his voice was low and dangerous.
"You think my brother is a demon?"
She still wouldn't look at him.
"Not just your brother," she fairly babbled. "Not just Sam, but Stephen… Max…"
"Wow, that incubus really messed with your head, didn't it?"
"No! No, it didn't! I just… look…"
"Your brother is not a demon!" he snapped. "And neither is mine!"
"You don't know that!" she exploded, at long last looking him in the eye. "Would you be this certain if was just Max we were talking about? Just Max? You wouldn't! Admit it! You just don't want to see it! I know – I don't want to see it either! But now that it's here... in my head… I can't not see it!"
"What did that demon say to you?" Dean demanded.
"Oh, god!"
She rolled her eyes unconvincingly, turning away from him. Dean leapt down from the bed, grabbing her arm and stopping her from running.
"Tell me!" he thundered. "What did that thing say to you?"
"It doesn't matter!"
"Yes it does! It sure as hell does! It matters when it's got you all freaked out, it matters when it might be about my brother – it fucking matters, Jayne! Now you tell me, goddamn it, what did that thing say to you?"
He'd grabbed her by both arms and forced her against the back of the truck, yelling at her, screaming into her face. She stared back at him, face blank, eyes defiant, chin up, in that silent, stoic way she had.
But her lip trembled slightly. Dean knew her too well by now to miss the tremble. And immediately the anger abated, replaced with a sudden onslaught of guilt.
Dean didn't let go. He loosened his hold on her, but he refused to let go. He leaned over her, tried to soften his expression. "Jayne," he said gently. "What did it say to you?"
She looked down at the ground between them. "My mom," she murmured. "About my mom…"
There was a hesitation. Dean waited it out.
"It said…" she chuckled bitterly. "It said, 'You Gibsons are all the same.' That's what it said to me. It said… it said it knew my kind, that…"
She swallowed, closed her eyes, and then said, with all the repulsion she could muster, "You're the spitting image of your mother. She was so sweet."
Jayne didn't continue. Dean didn't know what to say or do, but he knew silence was wrong, somehow. He was supposed to say something to that. "Look," he tried. "Demons… they lie. They know your weak spots. That thing was just… it was just trying to get under your skin."
"I want to believe that," she whispered. "But… the thing tells me… it gives me a time frame. Twenty two, twenty three years ago. And that's when…"
She trailed off. She didn't go on, because Dean didn't need her to. He knew exactly what had happened twenty two years ago.
"You think this thing killed your mom?"
Jayne shook her head. "No. I don't. I think that thing… that thing… you know what. It… it did that to her, and then… well, nine months later…"
"Stop it. Your brother is not… he looks exactly like Lynn! No way your stepdad wasn't…"
"It could have possessed Russ," she pointed out. "It could have. Then Stephen would have all Russ's genetic material and… and the demon's…"
"No," Dean shook his head. "No. That didn't happen. Not to your mom, and not to mine. It doesn't make sense! Why would this… why would this other demon go back and kill our moms? It doesn't…"
"Cleaning up the mess?" she suggested. "Getting rid of the witnesses? I don't… I don't know, Dean, but I can't ignore the coincidence…"
"Yes you can!" he snapped. "Our brothers aren't demons! You can't… you can't just…"
He let go of her, turning into the truck and slamming his fist down on the hard metal. "You can't just tell me that!"
"You wanted to know!" she shouted at him. "You wanted to know, Dean! So I told you! You think I like this? You think I want this to be true? I wish we'd never hunted that incubus! I wish…"
She kicked her tire, suddenly, ferociously. "My brother lights people on fire!" she exploded. "With his mind, Dean! People don't do that! Demons do that!"
"And Sam's visions?" Dean shouted at her. "Max Miller's telekinesis… that makes them demons!"
"Yes! I mean… no! I don't…"
She sighed tiredly, sagging against the truck. "I don't know. I don't know what to think. I just know something isn't right. Something…"
Jayne trailed off again, fixing her eyes on the Impala's back bumper.
"I don't know what to do, Dean."
Her voice was tiny and desperate. Dean stared at her, suddenly incapable of screaming.
She looked him in the eye. "I always know what to do," she said fiercely.
He kept staring at her, even though she looked away. She kept talking. "But now… now… I never used to be scared. Now I'm scared all the time. I never know what to do. And I wish… I just want my dad back."
The words hit Dean in the stomach with all the force of a punch. Jayne laughed mirthlessly. "I haven't said that in nearly four years," she announced. "But everything is so messed up now and… I just want someone to tell me what to do."
There was a long silence. Dean stared at her for a while. Then, after what felt like hours, he moved closer, leaning against the truck. "Yeah, well," he said. "Lately, I've been wishing my dad was around too."
She looked at him.
"Sam's right," he went on with a short, bitter chuckle. "I was always the good little soldier. I always did everything my dad told me to. Now he's gone and… and I have to make all these decisions, and…"
He looked her in the eye. "He didn't prepare me for any of this," he said, aware that he sounded as desperate as she had. "He didn't prepare me at all. I don't know what to do either, Jayne. I'm just as scared as you are."
Neither of them spoke for a while. Then Dean chuckled again, still bitter. "So, I guess we're not much help to one another."
She didn't say anything at first. Dean shook his head and looked down at the dirt.
Her fingers snuck in between his. Dean looked up in surprise as her warm hand enveloped his, squeezing it tight.
Their eyes met. "You're the only one who ever helps me," she told him seriously, viciously.
Dean stared at her, speechless. She looked away, still holding his hand. "We'll just – we'll just stick it out together. And then maybe it'll be all right."
He raised an eyebrow. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "Or maybe it won't," she conceded. "But, hey… at least when the shit hits the fan, we'll have a drinking buddy."
Dean laughed. He was surprised to hear the laughter burble out of his mouth. She lit up at his laugh, smiling at him.
Dean dragged his eyes from hers, sobering. "All right,' he agreed. "You and me. We'll stick it out. We'll… we'll help each other."
And then he winked, smirking. "BFFs, right?"
It was her turn to laugh.
When he let go of her hand, it felt like a shame. But he knew it was time to let go. He was getting far too comfortable holding that damn hand. So he let go, and folded his arms across his chest.
"Well," he said. "That was awkward."
"You're telling me."
"I could use a beer."
"I could use a fifth of tequila."
Dean laughed. She smiled. And the front door of the Miller house swung open. Sam and Lynn stepped outside, and just like that it was over.
Jayne stared at the door and Dean instantly knew. "You haven't told your sister."
It wasn't a question, and to her credit, she didn't lie. She just shook her head.
Dean nodded. He looked at his brother. "It's ok," he told her. "I'm not going to tell Sam."
Jayne looked at him, and he looked right back. They understood one another. Suddenly, they had a deal. Suddenly, it really was just the two of them. They alone knew what had just passed between them, what everything they'd said had meant. It should have made Dean feel utterly, completely alone.
He didn't.