Nightmares are a cursed thing. Anyone who says otherwise is a psychopath.
Though my ability to hide from my psychic dreams had finally found it's weakest link. Clearly, it withstood little against the force of Chuck. The Author gave these visions the push they needed to break through-probably for some plot development in His Books. That doesn't mean I liked it, just that I knew my own Free Will was weak when compared to the Will of an Author.
So that dream of Jim Miller being choked to death in his garage fucked up my night.
Yeah, it could've been Azazel that powered up the dream. Pitting the Psychic Kids against each other was his whole shtick. However, his power was still nothing compared to the Author Chuck Shurley. It's not rocket science! (Though rocket science only looks hard, but once you have a grasp on physics it's a walk in the park) In my eyes, that man was practically a God.
Jim Miller was in my dreams, as I said. Choking in his car on CO2 from his car. On one hand, murder was wrong. On the other...this was exactly the kind of murder I would send Darcy to complete. An abusive father, clearly with no signs of changing. Along with an abusive uncle. No 'right' way to morally feel right now.
That's...not a correct way to view murder.
Huh.
Okay.
Just another thing to hide from the Winchesters.
Easy.
==DG==
Anyway- all this was coming up when I woke up from a nightmare.
Sam too. Less relevant to me personally, but it's important to me that you know that.
It was jarring to wake up from something you thought you were safe from. Like, finding out you were sleepwalking again. Or sleep-cooking. I once cooked a whole dish of spaghetti in my sleep. Weird week, don't like talking about it. Still, I hadn't expected to have a psychic dream again. Nor did I ever wish too.
Sam, beside me on our shared bed (this room had no pullout couch, like, what the fuck?), was much worse for wear. He hadn't experienced a psychic dream that didn't involve Jess or his mom. At least I had experienced them before in this 'out of direct Winchester sight' way.
"Dean. Dean!" Sam called out.
Our brother sat up in his bed-("I'm the eldest-I get a solo bed." "Fuck you." "Fuck you too.")- immediately concerned. Though on seeing no danger, he relaxed. Only slightly. "What are you doing man, it's the middle of the night."
"We have to go." Sam warned him. He went off to gather his things/
I rolled myself off the bed, shaking off the exhaustion. It had been a rough week. We just survived a murder car, can't we get a brake?
Get it.
Get it- car-brake?
I'm hilarious when I'm tired.
Getting to my feet, I gathered my own things up.
"What's happening?" Dean asked, still groggy from sleep.
"Questions later. Moving now." I tossed Dean's duffel bag onto his bed.
Dean wasn't any more ready by that answer. He went along with it anyway, though.
In the end, it didn't matter how fast we packed. Max Miller would be dead by the time we made it to that town.
==DG==
The next showing off of my completely fucked up morals came when we went to investigate the witnesses at the Miller house.
How did we do this? Oh we dressed up as priests and a nun.
The craziest thing was that it worked.
If Darcy was alive, I would've taken a picture for the proof that I hadn't burst into flames.
==DG==
The next showcase of her awful morals came after the Miller house.
They had checked it for ghost activity, finding nothing. I was the only one of us who actually knew why it was like this, yet I was a pathological liar so I kept mum about it.
Dean was cleaning his weapons, of which he had a considerable number. Sam was rigorously searching for information on the house. I had decided to also clean my weapons. There were quite a few, but a couple could be cleaned in front of normal people. The rest could wait until...I guess I don't need to sleep, I can sleep when I'm dead.
"What do you have?" Dean asked, cleaning the barrels of his shotgun. He was set up on one of the motel beds.
To my personal delight, this motel had a moose for a symbol. Just the thing to remind me not all my morals were bad.
Beside the bed, on the floor, I was working on my own guns. Apparently my FBI weapon needed a tune up- nothing that couldn't be done with elbow grease.
"A whole lotta nothing. Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built." Sam grumbled. He'd taken possession of the motel room wall for this expedition.
"What about the land?" Dean asked. Bugs had left scars on us all.
Sam huffed. He sat down on the other bed, him and I resigned to sharing again. Motels couches were great, but not repeatedly nor after being squeezed into a car. "No grave yards, battle fields, tribal lands or any other kind of atrocity on or near the property."
Now...a good person, maybe Hermione Granger, would've said something helpful.
"Hey man I told you, I searched that house up and down. No cold spots, sulfur scent. Nada." Dean reminded.
I finished cleaning it, moving onto another. There was no shortage of pistols in my arsenal. Which reminded me, at some point I needed to restock my non-gun supplies. Salt, creams, other essentials.
"And the family said everything was normal?" Sam asked.
"Too normal, I'd say." I grumbled while cleaning another pistol.
Sam turned to me. "What?"
Realizing that he hadn't brushed aside the comment, I tried prompting him too. "Nothing. It was perfect- a nice little family in a nice little house. Nothing odd or strange or anything anyone would question."
Nothing that would make neighbors call the police. Or make teachers ask awkward questions. No questions at all. Why would they? Clearly, the Millers had nothing to hide. They were just a quiet family.
I've lived with quiet families.
My sister too.
They were never quiet when the doors were shut.
Never loud to just my sister and I, cause that would be too easy.
Nah- those quiet families were loud to the other kids in the house. Like a deep instinct warning them about poking the sleeping dragons sleeping under their roof.
None of them were smart enough to realize that the other kids were considered ours to protect.
But all of them learned, when Darcy was done with them.
"So what, you think Jim Miller killed himself and our dreams were just some sorta freakish coincidence?" Sam prompted Dean. "Our shared dream? That was exactly the same?"
"I dunno." Dean shrugged off. Because apparently, he'd seen a lot of strange shit, but twins doing the same weird shit was up there with The Shining. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing supernatural about that house."
There was a tiny prick in the back of my head. Like, imagine your mind as a house. It has a door- doors can be opened. Someone was opening my brain's back door- sneaking in like the rat bastard He was.
The prick shifted to a thumping. It moved to my forehead, pressing. To avoid causing injury I lowered my weapon. It was cleaned now anyway.
On the bed, Sam wasn't much better. He rubbed at his temples with the palm of his hand, pressing down to push back the pain. "Yeah. Well, maybe it has nothing to do with the house."
"Ah-" I began to seeth, hissing through clenched teeth. He pushed and pushed and pushed-
"Maybe it's just...Gosh-" Sam tried to go on.
"Aut-hah." The pain was actually getting worse. I tried to let it go through, to not fight it, but apparently my mind had problems with letting in demon powered dreams.
"-maybe it's connected to Jim in some other way?"
Dean had been staring at us like we lost our minds. Less so now, as we were both grunting and moaning in pain. "What's wrong with you two?"
Sam made a particularly loud one as he fell to the ground. I fell to my side, my head bonking on the floor. Lucky it was carpeted.
"Ahh. My head."
"Ugh- I don't like this!" I grumbled in complaint.
Dean shot up from the bed. He rushed to us, sitting in the middle. Well, most of his attention was to Sam at his left but the thought counted. "Sam? Raven? Hey-" Dean grabbed Sam's arm, knelt down to grab my shoulder. He squeezed tight. "Hey! What's going on? One of you talk to me."
I gasped as the vision came inside my head. Roger Miller, a long sequence that almost belonged in Final Destination- ending with him losing his head.
"It's happening again. Something's gonna kill Roger Miller." Sam warned when he came from his vision.
"Tonight. Window. Graphic stuff." Groaning, I pushed myself to my feet. I gathered up my weapons, only partially stumbling through it. Not exactly in a hurry to protect a child abusing bastard.
==DG==
They hadn't saved Roger, either way.
I did nothing to try.
Why even bother? His type never changed. Lucky for the world he didn't have kids of his own, or I might've helped Max more than I already was.
==DG==
The three of us went back to the Miller house. Again, dressed as priests and a nun. The boys had come under the assumption that Max- as the last remaining male of the Miller family- would inherit this possible curse on them. Much like that car had last week.
They were wrong.
I was in no hurry to correct them.
Max let us into the house. A good thing he wasn't also given psychic visions, or this would've been awkward.
"My mom's resting, she's pretty wrecked." Max explained her absence. His own eyes were puffy and red, from crying. Many would assume grief. As someone who was on the other side, he was obviously relieved. He'd gotten his own kind of justice.
Darcy hadn't even cried when she killed her parents. The Andersons weren't abusive, they just weren't most caring of parents. Not surprising considering the children they'd made. Still, they should've at least put forth more effort.
"Of course." Dean acknowledged with a nod. As far as he was concerned, they'd come to talk with Max anyone.
"All these people kept coming with like, casseroles?" Max looked over to a dining table, indeed full of tin-foiled casseroles. "I finally had to tell them all to go away. You know cause nothing says I'm sorry like a tuna casserole."
Sam smiled, sardonic.
I smiled, understanding.
Max smiled too. He was a lot less tense than during our last talk.
Everyone took a seat. The air was tense, waiting for the first question to begin. As far as Max was concerned, he'd gotten away with murder. Still- he was a teenage boy. There was going to be stressed involved.
"How you holding up?" Sam asked.
"Ok." Max replied, giving a smile as if to say 'finally'.
"You're dad and your uncle were close." Sam noted.
"Yeah I guess." 'Over their mutual alcholoism and beating of me.' But only I heard that bit. "I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little." Max looked off to the side. His eyes watering for a just a small second before he hid it away.
"But not lately much?" Sam reasoned.
"No, it's not that." Max shifted in his seat. He'd just killed his abusers. He thought he'd be free from those memories. Here we were, bringing them up again. "It's just...we used to be neighbors when I was a kid, and we lived across town in this house." He shifted again in his seat, carefully avoiding looking any of us in the eye. "Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time."
"What was that like?" I inquired. "Growing up in that house? With them?" You'll note, I didn't refer to them as family. They didn't deserve the honorific.
Max smiled, faker than fake and clearly ingrained in him via beatings. "It was fine." He replied in a tense rehearsed answer. He had to say that phrase a lot, I'm guessing. "Why?"
"All good memories?" Dean pressed. He saw something in there that couldn't be hidden. Something in him that struck a chord. He'd heard that tone in other kids growing up. Heard it from his own mouth, when he had to avoid talking about the family business. "Do you remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle maybe?"
Max shook his head. His shoulders were hunched in- trying to hide. An instinct that had been taught- a method of survival when anxious or tense. Darcy never had that quirk. She had always been proud. "What do ya...why do you ask?"
"Just a question." Dean excused easily.
"No, there was nothing." Max replied in the same monotone voice. He may be free, but if this got out he'd be chained to it forever. "We were totally normal. Happy." He added the adjective as an afterthought. Or maybe, as a joke. Family, happy? That phrase had no meaning to him.
"Good. That's good." Dean replied.
"Yeah...very good." I nodded in agreement, expression thoughtful. "We'll be going now. My guess is you'd like to have peace for once?"
Max gave an uncomfortable smile. But he glanced back when the double-meaning of the phrase hit him.
"Right." Sam replied to my statement. He turned to the boy. "Thanks."
Max was still looking at me, doing such a good job at staying cool I thought he'd learned Occlumency. "Yeah."
Without further ado, we got up and left.
Outside, we gathered around the Impala to brainstorm.
"No one's family is totally normal and happy." Dean noted.
"You saw it too? How tense he got when talking about his old house, that old life?" I pointed out. Also taking off the habit- it was murder on my hair.
The brothers nodded.
"He sounded scared." Sam added.
"Yeah Max isn't telling us everything." Dean reasoned. He took out the priest's choker. "I say we go find the old neighbourhood, find out what life was really like for the Millers."
They climbed into the car. I briefly pondered finding a way to stop them from finding out.
==DG==
Now, we stood at the footstep of a neighbor's house in that old neighborhood. It had been laughably easy to find their old address.
"Have you lived in the neighbourhood very long?" Sam asked the previous neighbor to the Miller's.
"Yeah, almost 20 years now. It's nice and quiet." The man answered. "Why, you looking to buy?"
"Not today, thanks." I replied with a smile. "See, we wanted to know more about the family that lived across the street?"
"Yeah the Millers." Dean added. The neighbor's face saddened in recollection. "They had a little boy called Max."
"Right." Sam nodded.
"I remember. The brother had the place next door." The neighbor pointed to both houses. "So uh, what's this about, is that poor kid ok?"
Oh, if I had a heart it'd be breaking right now.
"He's not hurt." I told the neighbor. "Nothing that can be seen, you know?"
The neighbor nodded, disgusted but understanding.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked us both.
"Well in my life I've never seen a child treated like that." The man explained. The Winchester men came to understand as the man went on. "I mean I'd hear Mr Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street, he was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar outta Max. Bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of."
Which implied- very clearly- there must be times this neighbor did not know of. Disgusting. Putrid. Garbage. Darcy would use these men as toys. If they had done anything like that to the boy, Darcy would've tortured them through the night.
"Happened that often, huh?" I spoke up.
"Practically every day." The man confirmed. "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, not lifting a finger to protect him. I must have called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good."
A normal person would ask 'why not'.
In my family, we mourned the fact we hadn't killed them first.
Cops not doing their jobs made our's easier.
As if punishing me for that thought, Chuck was bringing another vision to my head.
Prick.
Prick.
"Now you said step-mother." Dean noted.
Pri- thump
Thump
"I think his real mother died. Some sorta...accident. Car accident I think." the neighbor guessed.
I stumbled towards the car. The vision hit too fast, forcing me to instead sit down while pressing my back to the garden wall.
"Are you ok there?" The neighbor asked us both.
"Uh, yeah." Sam replied with a wince.
"Super." I replied, tense.
Dean took Sam with an arm around the waist, guiding him towards the car. "Thanks for your time."
"Yeah, thank you." Sam called over his shoulder.
"Much valued." I added in, as Dean held out an arm towards me. With a pained grimace I took it.
"God." Sam groaned.
I took a step forward- flung into one more vision. This time, of Max going after the last of the garbage.
==DG==
Now we were in the car, racing towards the Miller
"Max is doing it. Everything we've been seeing-"
"You sure about this?" Dean asked.
"Yeah, I saw him." Sam turned back to me. "You too, right?"
I was looking out the window.
"Raven?" Sam prompted. I mumbled, feigning giving him attention. "You saw Max too, right? All our other visions were matched up."
"Yeah...yeah I saw it too." I hesitantly agreed.
"How's he pulling it off?" Dean questioned.
"I don't know, telekinesis?" Sam guessed.
"What so he's psychic, a spoon bender?" Dean joked.
"I didn't even realize it but this whole he was there. He was outside the garage when his Dad died, outside the apartment when his Uncle died." Sam ranted. "These visions, this whole time. We weren't connecting to the Millers, we were connecting to Max! The thing is I don't get why, man. I guess because we're so alike?"
"What are you talking about. The dude's nothing like you." Dean brushed off.
"Thanks." I replied, snippy.
"Hey I didn't-"
"You're actually right though." I stated. The boys paused in any arguments. "Dude. I told you they told me my mom abandoned me. You think they were a good house?"
"Well." Sam swallowed, now awkward in his argument. "We all have psychic abilities, we all-"
"All what?" Dean argued. Sam said nothing- just left the implication hanging in the air. "Sam, Max is a monster, he's already killed two people, now he's gunning for a third."
"Is he really the monster in this though?" I brought up. Dean glared at me in confusion from the rearview mirror. "You heard what he went through. You saw what he was like. Those men- the real monsters- beat that fear into him."
"So what, he should get revenge?" Dean guessed.
"In this case, yes!" It was the only justified case as far as I was concerned. Memories came to me, of growing up with Darcy in foster homes in a universe of a horror movie. If they weren't screwed up, someone else in town was. Whether as a child beater or molester. Darcy got around to them all before we'd leave town.
"Yeah but it doesn't justify murdering your entire family!" Dean snapped.
"It does when your family is abusive and needs to be put down!" I snapped back. Now it was of Millie Winchester, and how she'd taken out her vampire nest. The nest that had raised her, made her out as bait for humans. Until she killed them with dead man's blood. Granted it had apparently turned her sister into a vampire, because apparently we were the Losechesters. "Come on, just let him finish! His stepmother did nothing to stop it, probably helped it along! From what we can see, they weren't abusing her too so she doesn't get that card! I say let Max finish it! Nobody's getting hurt!"
Dean parked the car. He turned in his seat, looking at me like I was a stranger. Sam too.
"Okay nobody who matters is being hurt!" I corrected. Welcome to my fucked up morals.
Dean glared at me, enraged and horrified but knowing he had to go on. "He's no different from anything else we've hunted, all right? We gotta end him."
"Look, I don't agree with Raven-"
"Well thanks!"
"But we're not going to kill Max." Sam argued.
"We can't!"
"Then what?" Dean questioned. Hand him over to the cops and say 'Lock him up officer he kills with the power of his mind'."
"We let him go!" I argued. "He'll be done with this when his relatives are dead. I'm sure of it!" Or he would be, after a quick conversation with me about what would keep him from dying. The same speech I'd given Darcy, way back when.
"No way. Forget it." Sam shook his head.
Dean turned off the car. "Raven, Sam-"
"Dean. He's a person. We can talk to him." Sam implored. "Hey, promise me you'll follow my lead on this one."
"...all right fine." Dean agreed. He gave Sam a warning look. But I'm not letting him hurt anybody else."
Sam turned to me. I was rolling my eyes at Dean's request. "Raven."
"She did nothing, Sam. She'd raised that boy, and did nothing when they raised their hands against him." I argued.
Sam gave me the baby-brother look. The one he'd no doubt used on Dean growing up, hundreds of times. It always got him what he wanted in the end.
Damn him for having a conscience.
"Whatever." I let out a groan, clearly giving into his request.
==DG==
It had not gone well. Max had seen Dean's gun in his belt, all of us not putting on our religious disguises. The gun was practically out in the open. Max had panicked. He sealed the house shut, using his powers to close all doors and windows. He now had a gun- less good. Sam and I convinced him to talk with us. Alone. We convinced Dean it would be five minutes.
Dean and Mrs Miller went off into the kitchen- Dean to heal her head wound from being thrown into a wall. Max brought us to the living room. He made a show of reminding us he could kill us fast- lifting up the knife he'd nearly used on his mom with his mind. It twirled on the desk, just above the wood.
Sam opened his mouth to speak, I stopped him.
"It never got easier, did it, Max?" I prompted. "They just got smarter. Moved to another house, other sides of town. Maybe they hurt you in less big ways. Made better excuses for why you got hurt. There's a treehouse in the backyard- I saw it earlier. Easy for kids to fall from that height, yeah?"
Max snorted, eyes going that same red puffy as he fought to cry. "Yeah." He kept swirling the knife. He kept close attention to it. Neither of us were stupid enough to think he wasn't also focused on us.
"Raven-" Sam tried to stop me.
I kept on going. "These guys, they don't understand what it's like."
"That's right they can't." Max glared at Sam.
Sam was staring at me, though, beginning to understand. He had the same look on his face when he heard about Max.
"My mom-" I held up an arm, pressing two fingers onto the upper part. "-she liked to cut. Right here. Nobody ever saw it. She would do it whenever suited her- didn't matter if I was tired, hadn't gotten better from the last time, she did it because she wanted to do it. Nothing stopped her. Nothing. Course, sometimes she got bored. She let my uncles have turns. Or my aunts. Never the cousins, they were too excited and new to it."
Max continued to stare at the knife. "You stopped them too, huh?"
"Yes I did." I answered. "They were monsters- in every sense of the word." I gave Sam a meaningful look, wanting him to know his sister hadn't killed multiple humans. Not that it would've made a difference to my moral code, but it would make him feel better. "I poisoned them. They died in pain. Like...like you made them die in pain, yeah?"
"They deserved it." Max snapped.
"Of course they did. People like that don't change. They just get better at lying." I stated.
"Even his stepmother?" Sam suggested. I scoffed. Max glared at Sam. "Max, did she beat you?"
"No, but she never tried to save me, she's a part of it too." Max argued.
"Just because she never caused a physical wound doesn't mean it wasn't hurtful." I snapped. "They're just as bad as the abusers! Hell, they are abusers!"
"What they did to you, what they all did to you growing up, they deserve to be punished-" Sam tried to reason, which was the dumbest thing he's done this week.
"Growing up? Try last week." Max stood up. He showed off the bruise covered his entire right side. The bruises were a deep purple now- they'd come before his dad had died. There was a cut there too, something more than just Jim Miller's fists had hit Max. Seeing them in real life made me want to find Jim Miller in Hell then kill him again. "My dad still hit me. Just in places people wouldn't see it. Old habits die hard I guess. People like that never change." He sat back down, letting Sam stew on that.
Sam could only stare at the bruise. The familiar emotion of shock/disgust/guilt flashing across his face. It was never easy to see kids that were hurt like this. It never got easy. "I'm sorry." Sam apologized.
I stood up, kneeling at Max's side. My hand moved towards him. Max made no move away as I put the hand on his arm, giving in an affirming squeeze.
"When I first found out I could move things it was a gift. My whole life I was helpless but now I had this. So last week Dad gets drunk. The first time in a long time. 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?" Sam asked.
Max let the knife drop down. It made a heavy sound, heavier than things that weight normally dropped. "It wasn't about getting away." I squeezed his arm, assuring him it was alright. We weren't going to hurt him. We wouldn't. I wouldn't. "Just knowing they would still be out there. It was about...not being afraid." Max looked down at me. I gave him a proud smile. Max swallowed, going on with it. "When my dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?"
"Yes."
"No." Sam answered.
"He blamed me for everything." Max went on. "For his job, for his life, for my mom's death."
"Why would he blame you for your Mom's death?" Sam asked.
"Because she died in my nursery, while I was asleep in my crib." Max explained. "As if that makes it my fault."
The Winchester was now thoroughly shocked. I kept up my hold on Max's arm. "She died in your nursery?"
"There was a fire." Max added on, like that made it any easier on Sam. "And he'd get drunk and babble on like she died in some insane way. He said that she burned up. Pinned to the ceiling!"
"Listen to me, Max." Sam began. "What your dad said, about what happened to your mom. It's real."
"What?" Max stared at Sam like he was talking crazy.
"It happened to our mom too, exactly the same. Our nursery, our cribs, my dad saw her on the ceiling." Sam explained.
"Your Dad must have been as drunk as mine." Max argued. "And wait- you're related?"
"I was abducted. Raised in another house." I admitted, glancing to Sam. "But it definitely all fits now.
"No, no. It's the same thing, Max. The same thing killed our mothers." Sam pressed on, now with a firm grasp on the situation.
"That's impossible." Max shook his head. He'd always believed that they were drunkenly ramblings. To hear they could actually be true? Bullshit.
"This must be why we're having visions during the day." Sam reasoned. "Why they're getting more intense. Cause you, Raven, and I must be connected in some way."
"Aside from the actual use of the power-" I spoke, loosening my hold on Max's arm to get a better look at Sam. "-it's details are exactly the same. I bet it was six months after he was born."
"Your abilities, they started six-seven months ago right, out of the blue?" Sam added.
Max looked at the two of us, eyes wide and panicked as he fought back tears still. "How'd you know those things?" He answered.
"Cause that's when our abilities started, Max." Sam answered, with a glee almost like mad as it was coming clear to him. "Yours seem to me much further along but still, this has to mean something right? I mean, for some reason, the three of us...the three of us were chosen." Sam correctly guessed.
"For what?" Max questioned.
"I don't know." Sam answered.
"Nothing good, probably." I spoke with a shrug. "I mean, come on. It burned our mothers doing it. Good things don't tend to burn mothers to the ceiling. Just look at Carrie."
Sam nodded, accepting of all of it. "But Dean, Raven and I-our brother-we're hunting for your mom's killer."
I turned to Max. "You know how you stopped the people like them? We're doing it too. If you exist, there are probably a lot of other kids without moms because of it. With your power, we can stop it. We can finish it off, Max, you can help us finish it off."
Max actually seemed to be considering it.
But Sam had to add a clause.
"But you gotta let us go Max. You gotta let your stepmother go."
Max turned us down with a shake of his head, and with a tearful confession. This kid had to get we weren't a real nun or priest, right? "No. What they did to me. I still have nightmares. I'm so scared all the time, like I'm just waiting for that next beating. I'm so sick of being scared all the time, I just want this to be over!"
He stormed up from his chair. He marched to the stairs- marched towards his stepmother.
Sam and I rose up too. Sam to block, me to encourage.
"It won't. Don't you get it?" Sam stressed. "The nightmares won't end, Max. Not like this. It's just, more pain."
"It only hurts if you do it wrong." I countered.
"And it makes you as bad as them." Sam countered back. "Max, you don't have to go through all this by yourself."
"I'm sorry." Max apologized.
His powers pushed us both into a closet across the room. The door slammed shut. Max moved a bookshelf in front of the door. I was freaking out now. Being locked up in a room never ended well for me.
A vision hit me. This time it didn't hurt- or I was falling into shock and hadn't noticed.
==DG==
In this vision- Max killed Dean.
That was a big no-no.
Darcy had broken that Rule.
I pushed her into a mega-fan for it.
==DG==
"NO!"
"No. NOOO!" Sam screamed.
I'm not sure who pushed the door open. It could've been both.
==DG==
Sam shoved the door open.
We stopped Max from shooting Dean in the head.
But Max ended up shooting himself.
==DG==
Mrs Miller explained it all away to the cops. It had gone well, even though Sam and I were disbondment with the news.
"If I'd just said something else. Gotten through to him somehow." Sam explained.
"We were there. We were there as soon as we could. He just wanted to finish." I explained, resigned. "He was probably going to do that when he was done."
"Ah, don't do that." Dean scolded us both.
"Do what?" Sam asked.
"Torture yourselves." Dean told us. "It wouldn't have mattered what you guys said, Max was too far gone."
"When I think about how he looked at me, man, right before." Sam stated. I agreed. It was a crushing look. It wouldn't have made anyone feel better. "I shoulda done something."
"Come on man, you risked your lives." Dean told us. "I mean yeah, maybe if we had gotten there 20 years earlier."
By that point, we'd made it to the Impala. I walked over to Sam's side of the car, visibly slouching. "It doesn't make it any easier, Dean."
Dean let me have that.
"Well I'll tell you one thing." Sam turned to me for a glance. "We're lucky we had Dad."
Dean gawked at his brother.
I mourned a member of the Hating-John-Winchester Club.
"Well I never thought I'd hear you say that." Dean noted.
"Yeah?" I asked Sam.
Sam shrugged, as if what he was saying wasn't a big deal. "Well, it coulda gone a whole other way after Mom. A little more tequila and a little less demon hunting and we coulda had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out ok. Thanks to him."
I still hate John Winchester.
He may not have hit you, but as far as I'm concerned he did nothing.
Literally.
Nothing.
Bobby was a better father to you- and he knew that. Right to the end.
But John Winchester is a man I will hate forever.
"All things considered."
"If you say." I remarked before climbing into the Impala.
==DG==
At our motel room, we were packing everything away.
"Dean I've been thinking." Sam spoke up as he came back from the car.
Dean scoffed, stuffing his shirts into a duffle bag. "Well that's never a good thing."
"Leave the thinking to an actual graduate!" I taunted, polishing off another clean gun. There was time for it while the boys tidied everything else.
"I'm serious." Sam stated, giving us both 'shut up' looks. "I've been thinking, this demon, whatever it is. Why would it kill Mom, and Jessica, and Max's mother, you know? Why would it take Raven but leave her at some random house? What does it want?"
"I have no idea." Dean admitted.
"Well, you think, maybe, it was after us? After Max and us?" Sam asked.
"Why would you think that?" Dean asked.
"I mean, either telekinesis or premonitions, we all had abilities you know?" Sam explained. "Maybe he was after us for some reason."
"Sam. If it had wanted you, it would've just taken you. Just like it did to Raven, ok?" Dean pointed out. "This is not your fault, it's not about you."
"Then what is it about?" Sam questioned.
"It's about this damn thing that did this to our family. This thing we're gonna find and kill. And that's all." Dean stated firmly.
I put my things into my Bag, walking toward the door.
"Actually there's uh...something else too." Sam spoke.
It made me pause in the threshold.
"Ah jeez what." Dean huffed, knowing he wasn't gonna like it.
Sam glanced to me. More importantly, he glanced at my arm.
Le sigh.
"Fine." Huffing, I leaned back so the door wasn't blocking my view of Dean. "I was abused at the house I was raised in. Raised by literal monsters- a whole nest of those rats- and I got my sister and I out by killing them dead. Yes I'd do it again. No you won't change my mind-"
"Whoa, whoa hey!" Dean held up a hand, in an out-of-normal way of calming people down. It was a surprise to see it, so that it actually worked. "Sorry. That's...rough."
'Certainly one way of putting it.' "Yeah."
"Actual monsters?" Dean repeated.
"Yep." I nodded. "I'm going to the car now. Don't make me talk about this anymore? Please?"
The boys let me go.
I set myself up in the car, using my Bag as a pillow. Though I knew I wouldn't get any sleep tonight. Nope, I pulled out the headphones to listen to showtunes. There had been too many memories of Darcy on this day. Even though I lost her years ago, it hurt like it had just happened.
Inside, Sam was explaining to Dean what'd happened with the door. That he wasn't sure if it was me or him that pushed it, or if it was us both. Dean took it in stride- after a quick heart-to-heart, saying we should drive to Vegas to get some easy winnings thanks to these powers.
It was the sort of thing Darcy would've suggested, had I not taught her how to break into ATMs or rig a fake credit card.
Yeah...I came from a fucked up family.
==DG==
AN: So...this happened. While I was writing. I...can't say I agree with what Morgan/Raven believes, only that she does it with good intentions. She's doing the wrong thing for the right reasons but...there are just better ways. Safer, non-murder ways.
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