S1 EP14 NIGHTMARE
Bridget was jolted awake by Sam's sudden movement next to her. By the panic in his voice as he was waking up Dean she took it to mean he had another precognitive nightmare. She laid her head back on the pillow with a groan. They were really starting to bug her when it came to interrupting sleep especially since she shared a bed with him more often. She'd been back to bunking with Sam the last two weeks since the asylum incident. Though she was starting to rethink that. Dean was a heavier sleeper and didn't have nightmares.
Dean rolled over and sat up, still half asleep. "What are you doing, man? It's the middle of the night."
"We have to go," Sam said, shoving his things back in his duffel bag.
"What? Why? Sam, it's midnight we had a long day," she yawned.
"We have to go," he repeated. "Right now."
She groaned and fell back on her pillows. "One more hour."
"No," Sam pulled the blanket off her and tugged on her arm to sit her up. "Now, Bridge."
She ran her fingers through her hair as she grabbed her jeans from her bag, trading her shorts off for them. She left the blue tank top she had on. "Starbucks isn't even open. "
"You're tellin' me," Dean grumbled, pulling his jacket on.
She zipped her boots up and pulled her pant legs down over them then grabbed her duffel and shoulder bag, climbing into the back seat of the car. "This better be freakin' important."
Not even an hour later Sam was on the phone to some police station giving them a bunch of information on a guy she'd never even heard of.
"Sam, relax. I'm sure it's just a nightmare," Dean said.
"Yeah, tell me about it," he mumbled.
"No, I mean it. You know, a normal, everyday, naked in class nightmare. Watch the info won't check out."
"You had the naked in class dream?" Bridget asked Dean.
He shrugged, "Once…scared the hell out of me."
"Why? Was it math class and they had a ruler?" she teased with a grin.
"No, that'd have been their nightmare. I'd have passed that test."
"This felt different," Sam interrupted the banter. "It felt real. Like when I dreamt about our old house and Jessica."
"Well, yeah, that makes sense, You're dreamin' of our house, your girlfriend. This guy in your dream, you ever seen him before?"
"No."
"Bridge, have you had any picture dreams?" Dean asked her.
She shook her head, "None relating to a guy dying in his car."
"See, why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan if Bridge hasn't had a picture dream to it either?" Dean said.
"I don't know," he said. Someone on the phone got back to him and he wrote some stuff down before hanging up the phone. "It checked out. How far are we?"
"From Saginaw?"
"Yeah."
"Couple hours."
"Drive faster."
Bridget sighed and pulled out her book. "There goes my coffee."
Less than two hours later they were pulling up to the Miller's house. Bridget looked over her book at the cop cars and paramedics loading a body bag into the ambulance. They were too late to stop Sam's vision. Dean parked the car a block away and they walked up to the scene. Dean turned to a nearby older woman who was observing the spectacle with a grim look on her face.
"What happened?"
"Suicide," she shook her head, a hand to her cheek. "I can't believe it."
"Did you know him?" Bridget asked.
"I saw him every Sunday at St. Augustine's. He always seems – seemed," she corrected herself, "so normal. I guess you never know what's going on behind closed doors."
"Yeah…I guess not," Dean said.
"How did- how are they saying it happened?" Sam asked curiously.
"I heard they found him in his garage. Locked in his car with the engine on," she said and the three exchanged looks.
"Do you know about what time they found him?"
"Oh, it just happened an hour or two ago. His poor family. I can't even imagine what they're going through."
Sam glanced at the sobbing wife on the porch and turned around, walking angrily back to the car. "Sam, we got here as fast as we could," Bridget told him.
"Not fast enough. It just doesn't make any sense. Why would I have these premonitions unless there was a chance that I could stop them from happening?"
Bridget shrugged, "Sam reason I get my picture dreams that I can't change…I just don't know."
"So, what do you think killed him?" Sam sighed rubbing at his eyes.
Dean shrugged, "Maybe the guy just killed himself. You know, maybe there's nothing supernatural going on at all."
"We're never that luckily," Bridget mumbled.
"I'm telling you, I watched it happen. He was murdered by something, Dean. It trapped him in the garage."
"Well, what?" Dean asked. "A spirit, a poltergeist, what?"
"I don't know what it was. I don't know why I have these dreams, I don't know what the hell is happening, Dean."
He looked at his brother with concern. "I worry about you."
"So do I," he let out a deep breath.
"Yeah well, come on. Let's pick this up in the morning. We'll check out the house, talk to the family."
"You saw how devastated they are. They're not gonna want to talk to us."
"Yeah, you're right. But I think I know who they will talk to."
"Who?" Sam asked.
Dean grinned and glanced at Bridget. "We still have that stuff from the church."
She nodded and her jaw dropped. "That's low…"
"It'll work…"
"What'll work?" Sam asked.
Bridget adjusted her glasses and straightened the skirt out to her suit as she got out of the car. She bluntly refused to be a nun to Sam and Dean's minister's. She figured grief counselor for the church would be more suitable, less embarrassing, and less points to send her to hell. She had leant Sam some hair gel to make his hair look neater and combed it back, twisting her own into a bun.
Dean rang the doorbell and Sam leaned in for a moment to him, "This has got to be a new low for us."
A middle aged man opened the door and Dean smiled politely. "Good afternoon. I'm Father Simmons, this is Father Frehley. We're junior priests over at St. Augustine's. This young lady is Miss Cat, the grief counselor at our church. May we come in?" the man nodded and moved out of the doorway.
"We're very sorry for your loss," Sam apologized as the man closed the door.
"It's in difficult times like these when the Lord's guidance is most needed."
The man looked at them agitated. "Look, if you wanna pitch your whole Lord has a plan thing, fine. But don't pitch it to me. My brother is dead."
A middle aged blonde woman came into the room. "Roger, please."
"Excuse me," he said and left the room.
"I'm sorry about my brother-in-law. He's just so upset about Jim's death. Would you like some coffee?"
"That'd be wonderful," Bridget nodded, her mouth watering at the thought of caffeine.
She ushered them into the living room where they took seats on the couch, Bridget sat across on a love seat. Ms. Miller came back in with a tray of coffee. Bridget tried her hardest not to drain the damn thing in a gulp.
"It was wonderful of you to stop by. The support of the church means so much right now."
"Of course. After all, we're all God's children," Dean said and Bridget took a drink to keep from snorting. Ms. Miller left again to get snacks from the kitchen and Sam glared at his brother. "What?"
"Just tone it down a bit, Father," he warned him.
Ms. Miller came back and sat next to Dean, putting the mini hot dog tray on the coffee table. Dean was quick to grab one.
"So, Ms. Miller," Bridget said. "Did your husband have a history of depression?"
"Nothing like that. We had our ups and downs, like everyone. But we were happy," tears came from her eyes. "I just don't understand how Jim could do something like that."
"I'm so sorry you had to find him like that," Sam said.
"Actually," she sniffled. "Our son, Max – he was the one who found him," she pointed to the teenage boy sitting in the other room alone.
"Do you mind if me and Miss…Cat go talk to him?"
"Oh, that'd be nice," she nodded and Sam and Bridget went into the dining room.
"Max?" Sam said. "I'm Sam. This is Bridget."
"Hi," he mumbled.
"So what was your dad like, Max?" Bridget asked.
"Just a normal dad," he shrugged.
"And you live at home now?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, I'm trying to save up for school, but it's hard."
"When you found your dad…"
"I woke up," Max said. "I heard the engine running. I don't know why he did it," he shook his head.
"I know its rough…" Sam said. "Losing a parent. Especially when you don't have any answers."
"Uh huh," he mumbled.
Bridget glanced at Sam. They weren't going to get any further with this kid. Not now at least. They met with Dean who had inspected the house and all three came to a dead end.
It was back to the bat cave for them, also known as any hotel they stayed in. Dean was polishing his weapons as if they were priceless jewels and Sam was on his laptop leaving Bridget to clean her knife collection and her favorite gun.
"So, what do we have?" Dean asked.
"A whole lot of nothing," Sam said. "Nothing bad has happened to the Miller house since it was built."
"What about the land it's on?" Bridge asked, putting her knives back in order and rolling up her pack.
"No graveyards, battlefields, tribal lands, or any other kind of atrocity on or near the property."
"I told you, I searched that house up and down," Dean said. "There were no cold spots, no sulfur scents, nada."
"And the family said everything was normal?" he asked.
"Well, I mean, if there was a demon or poltergeist in there, don't you think somebody would have noticed something? I used the infrared scanner, man, there was nothing."
"So, what, you think Jim Miller killed himself? And my dream was just some sort of freak coincidence?"
"I don't know. But I'm pretty sure that there's nothing supernatural about that house."
Bridget frowned as she noticed Sam wince and rub at his temples, she felt her necklace get slightly warm around her neck…or maybe she was imagining it this time. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he grimaced. "Well, you know, maybe, uh – maybe it has nothing to do with the house. Maybe, it's just, uh – gosh – maybe it's connected to Jim in some other way." Suddenly Sam let out a gasp and clutched at his head from whatever pain he was feeling.
"Sam!" Bridget was already on her knees next to him as he fell to the floor yelling from the pain grabbing him by the shoulders, Dean right next to her.
"Sam! Hey, what's goin' on?" Dean asked. "Talk to me."
He was suddenly gasping, looking around horrified. "It's happening again. Something's gonna kill Roger Miller."
"Are you sure?" Dean asked.
"I just had a blinding vision," he nodded still sweating. "I'm sure."
"Let's get to the car then," Bridget said and she and Dean helped Sam to his feet.
He was on his cell phone with information a moment later as Dean drove. He hung up and gave the address.
"Are you okay?" Bridget asked, leaning over the front seat. "You're still pale."
"I'm good."
"If you're gonna hurl, I'll pull the car over, you know, cause the upholstery -." Dean was cut off.
"I'm fine," he repeated.
"Alright…" Dean let it go but Bridge new this would rear its head later.
"Just drive."
"Okay…"
Sam sighed a moment later, "I'm just scared. These nightmares weren't bad enough, now I'm seeing things when I'm awake? And these visions, or whatever, they're getting more intense…and painful."
"So I noticed," Bridget said. "I can't help you there though, my picture visions and…other things aren't like that."
"Come on, Sammy, it'll be all right," Dean reassured him. "You'll be fine."
"What is it about the Miller's? Why am I connected to them? Why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me?"
"I don't know, Sam," Bridget said and put her hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure it out though, okay? I promise. We face the unexplainable every single day, this is just another thing."
"No…it's never been us. It's never been in my family like this. Tell the truth, this freaks you guys out."
Bridget shrugged, "I'd be the pot calling the kettle black darling, but my brother was different too, so it ran in my family, least to me and my brother."
Dean shook his head, "It doesn't freak me out…I fought a scarecrow a few weeks ago, went up against Bloody Mary, got headed up in an asylum…this doesn't freak me out."
"It freaks me out," he mumbled.
She rubbed his shoulder, "That's because you're weird."
Sam pointed out the window at the guy walking towards the building. "There he is!"
Dean coasted alongside him, "Hey, Roger," Sam called out.
"Hold up a second," Dean said.
Roger saw who it was and looked annoyed. "What are you guys, missionaries? Leave me alone."
"Please," Sam begged and Dean pulled the car over so they could get out and hurried to the apartment building. "Roger, we're trying to help. Please! Hey, hey, hey." He tried to grab the door as Roger shut it and locked it behind him.
"I don't want your help," he said and walked away.
"Come on," Dean gestured for them to fall as he took them around the alley to the side of the building. Dean pulled down the fire escape ladder and climbed up letting Bridge and Sam follow. A minute later a crashing noise was heard and they all exchanged a look before hurrying faster up the countless stairs until they reached Roger's window covered in blood. Bridget put a hand over her mouth, trying not to get sick.
Dean handed her a rag. "Here, wipe your fingerprints down," he said and started wiping at the metal. "We don't want the cops to know we were here."
After giving the staircase a scrub while Dean checked inside for anything unusual they headed back to the car. "I'm tellin' you, there was nothing in there," Dean was saying. "There's no signs either, just like at the Miller house."
"I saw something in the vision, like a dark shape. Something was stalking Roger," Sam said.
"Well, whatever it was, we can be sure it's not connected to their house."
"No, it's definitely connected to the family," Bridget said, her stomach much calmer than before. "So, what do you think we got?
"Could be a spirit," Dean suggested. "There's a few that have been known to latch to families for years."
"So maybe they got involved in something heavy," Sam said. "Something curse worthy."
"And now something is out for revenge and the men in their family are dying. Hey, you think Max is in danger?" Bridget asked.
"Let's figure it out before he is," Dean said and slid into the driver's seat.
Sam shut the door, "Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people."
"What's that?" questioned Bridget.
"Both our families are cursed."
"Our family is not cursed. We just…had our dark spots…like Bridget," Dean pointed out as he drove.
Sam chuckled, "Our dark spots are pretty dark."
"You're dark," he muttered. "We better stop by the hotel."
"Why?"
"Bridget needs to be back in her dress suit and we need our Fatherly clothes."
Sam groaned and leaned his head back against the seat. "We are so going to hell."
Bridget patted his forehead, "It's quite a road to travel."
The high heels were bugging her the most. She didn't mind the suit skirt or the blouse. But the heels were becoming a bitch. She wanted her boots. Sure those were heeled but they were easy to run in and went up to her calves. This one showed the scars on her legs even with the stockings on. At least it wasn't a nuns outfit, that's all she could tell herself.
They were sitting in the living room with Max.
"My mom's resting, she's pretty wrecked," he said.
"Of course," Dean nodded.
"All these people kept coming with like casseroles. I finally had to tell them all to go away," he gestured into the dining room where the many trays covered the entire table. What was with casseroles being the food to cook when someone died? Bridget remembered getting a table full and then some when she was staying in a rented apartment on campus after her family died. She threw them away after awhile, never eating any just taking them from the condoling people straight to the trash can. Mac continued talking, "Nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a tuna casserole."
"How you holding up?" Bridget asked him.
"I'm okay," he shrugged.
"Your dad and your uncle were close?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, I guess, I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little."
"But not much lately?" Sam asked again.
"No, it's not that. It's just – we used to be neighbors when I was a kid. And we lived across town in this house, and Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time."
"Right," Sam nodded. "So, how was it in that house when you were a kid?"
"It was fine. Why?" Max asked with a frown.
"All good memories?" Dean asked this time. Bridget watched Max, eyes intent since he started fidgeting at the mention of his old house. "Do you remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and uncle maybe?"
He became flustered, "What do you – why do you ask?"
Dean shrugged, "Just a question."
He completely shut down all emotion then, "No. There was nothing. We were totally normal. Happy."
"Good. That's good. Well, you must be exhausted. We should take off."
"Right," Sam said and stood up looking at Max. "Thanks."
"Yeah," he nodded and they saw themselves off.
Once the front door was shut and they were near the car did they start talking.
"Nobody's family is totally normal and happy. Did you see how he was talkin' bout the old house?" Dean questioned.
"Sounded scared," Sam nodded.
"I don't think it was the house either…I think it was his dad and uncle," Bridget noted as she got in the car. "He seemed scared of his past."
"Yeah, Max isn't telling us everything. I say we go find the old neighborhood and find out what life was really like at the Millers."
Luckily enough Bridget was wearing her regular skirt under the dress suit and a tank top under the blouse. Dean glanced in the review mirror as she let her hair down. "It's like a really good stripper show. Naughty teacher type."
"Eyes on the road buddy," she warned him as she removed the heels and rolled the stockings off her legs. Sam had already removed his priest uniform and turned around to the back seat to put it back there and grab his jacket. Bridget was working on the other stocking and didn't stop him when he slid his hand up her thigh to pull it down and remove it from her leg with a sly smile that made her want to pull him back there. She returned the haughty look and put her boots back on, handing him his jacket.
It wasn't long until they were at the old neighborhood and Dean took off his uniform, Bridget handing him his jacket as they got of the car and strolled up to the neighbor's house across the street where one was sitting outside on the porch, an older gentlemen who wasn't at all bothered with their questions.
"Have you lived in this neighborhood long?" Sam asked.
"Yeah, almost twenty years now. It's nice and quiet. Why, you lookin' to buy?"
"No, no, actually, we were wondering if you might recall a family that lived right across the street, I believe," Bridget said gesturing at the house.
"Yeah, the Millers. They had a little boy named Max," Dean added.
"Yeah, I remember. The brother had the place next door. So, uh, what's this about? That poor kid, all right?"
Bridget almost cursed herself for being right. Sam asked the question. "What do you mean?"
"Well, in my life, I've never seen a child treated like that. I mean, I'd hear Mr. Miller yellin' and throwin' things clear across the street. He was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar out of Max. Bruise – broke his arm two times I know of."
Bridget shook her head in disgust.
"And this was going on regularly?"
"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."
"You said stepmother?" Dean questioned.
"I think his real mom died. Car accident I think," he glanced at Sam. "Are you okay?"
Bridget turned her attention to Sam and saw him breathing sharply, clutching at his head. "Shit," she mumbled and grabbed at his arms moving him away from the porch and the stairs before it hit him full force.
"Thanks for your time," Dean said and helped her move Sam to the car and into the passenger seat.
"Sammy, are you okay? What did you see?" she asked as he blinked a few times as it ended.
"Max…" he choked. "It's Max. Drive Dean."
And Dean did just that.
"Max is doing it. Everything I've been seeing," he said.
"You sure about this?" Dean questioned.
"Yeah, I saw," he nodded.
"How's he pullin' it off?"
"I don't know. It looked like telekinesis."
"So he's psychic…I thought he was different," Bridget said.
"I didn't even realize it, but this whole time he was there. He was outside the garage when his dad died, he was in the apartment when his uncle died. These visions, this whole time, I wasn't connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to Max. The thing I don't get is why? I guess because we're so alike."
"What are you talking about? That dude is nothing like you," Dean argued.
"We both have psychic abilities, we're both -."
Dean cut him off, "Both what? Sam, Max is a monster. He's already killed two people and now he's gunning for a third."
"What he went through – the beatings. To want revenge on those people, I'm sorry, man, I hate to say it but it's not insane."
"It doesn't justify murdering your entire family."
"Dean - ."
"He's no different than anything else we've hunted. Alright, we've gotta end him," he said and pulled the car over, shutting it off as they got there.
"We're not gonna kill Max," Sam said sternly.
"Then what?" Dean asked with a frown getting agitated. "I hand him over to the cops and say 'Lock him up officer he kills with the power of his mind'."
"Forget it, no way."
"Sam -."
"Dean! He's a person. We can talk to him. Hey, promise me you'll follow my lead on this one."
Dean glanced at Bridget who was more or less on Dean's side. "All right," Dean nodded. "But I'm not letting; him hurt anybody else," he reached across to the glove compartment and took out a glock, tucking it into his pocket before getting out of the car
Bridget agreed and knew that if it came down to it, it'd be his mind power against hers, and under emotional situations, she was a force to be reckoned with. Dean basically kicked the kitchen door down and they saw Max standing there upset and angry, Ms. Miller was still crying and Bridget noticed the knife on the counter that had fallen once they entered.
Ms. Miller looked confused, "Fathers?"
"What are you doing here?" Max asked.
"Uh," Dean cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt."
"Max," Sam gestured to him. "Could we, uh, could we talk to you outside for just a second?"
"About what?"
"It's- it's private. I wouldn't wanna bother your mother with it. We won't be long at all, though, I promise."
Max glanced at his stemother and nodded. "Okay."
"Great," Sam sighed. Dean turned and Max saw the gun in Dean's jeans."You're not priests!"
Dean removed the gun but it jerked out of his hand and Max grabbed it pointing it at them.
"Max! What's happening?" Ms. Miller yelled.
"Shut up!"
"What are you doing?" she asked.
Max jerked his head and she was flung into the counter falling to the floor. "I SAID SHUT UP!"
"Max, calm down," Bridget said calmly, holding her hands out.
"Who are you?"
"We just wanna talk to you," Sam said just as calmly.
"Yeah, right, that's why you brought this," he waved the gun he held.
"That was a mistake," Sam said. "So was lying about who we were, but no more lying, Max, okay? Just please, hear us out."
"About what?"
"I saw you do it. I saw you kill your dad and your uncle before it happened," Sam admitted.
"What?"
"I'm having visions. About you."
"You're crazy."
"So, you weren't gonna launch that knife at your stepmom?" he pointed at his eye. "Right here? Is it hard to believe Max? Look what you can do. I saw drawn here, alright? I think I'm here to help you."
"No one can help me!" he shouted at them.
"Let me try. We'll just talk. Me and you and Bridget because she's different too. She's been different longer than me. We'll get Dean and Alice out of here."
"Nobody leaves this house!"
"And nobody has to, alright. They'll just go upstairs."
"Sam, I'm not leavin' you and Bridge alone with him."
"Yes, you are," Bridget said with a nod.
"Look, Max, you're in charge here, all right?" Sam continued. "We all know that. No one's gonna do anything that you don't want to, but I'm talkin' five minutes."
"Five minutes," Max agreed and looked at Dean. "Go."
Dean moved and picked up Ms. Miller taking her up the stairs. Bridget and Sam moved with Max into the living room.
"Look," Sam said. "I can't begin to understand what you went through."
Max was staring at a letter opener , making it twirl, making Bridget uneasy. She felt her own telekinesis rising in her, waiting to be unleashed. Fear was a good initiative.
"That's right…you can't," he said.
"Max, this has to stop," she said to him.
"It will after my stepmother."
"No. You need to let her go," Bridget said.
"Why?"
"Did she beat you?" Sam asked.
"No, but she never tried to save me. She's part of it too."
"Look, what they did to you growing they deserve to be punished," Sam said.
"Growing up?" Max snorted angrily. "Try last week," he stood up and raised his shirt. Bridget was taken aback by the large bruise on his stomach and ribs. "My dad still hit me, just in places people wouldn't see. Old habits die hard, I guess," he pulled his shirt back down and sat.
"I'm sorry," Bridget said softly and watched the letter opener spin faster, putting her on edge.
"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, 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. The letter opener clashed to the table causing them both to jump.
"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 this hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?"
Bridget shook her head slowly and Sam answered softly, "No."
"He blamed me for everything. For his job, for his life, for my mother's death."
"Why would he blame you for your mom's death?" Bridget asked.
"Because she died in my nursery. While I was sleeping in my crib," he said and Bridget stared at Sam who's eyes were wide. "As if that makes it my fault."
"She died in your nursery?" Sam repeated.
"Yeah, there was a fire. And he'd get drunk and babble on like she died in some insane way. He said she burned up, pinned to the ceiling."
Bridget felt her head spin as flashes of her brother came to mind, him yelling at her to leave, holding his son, as the fire consumed the room and Lydia was pinned to the ceiling, enveloped in flame.
Sam spoke. "Listen to me, Max? What your dad said about what happened to your mom – it's real."
"What?"
"It happened to my mom, too, and Bridget's sister-in-law. Exactly the same way – in the nursery. My dad saw her on the ceiling."
"Then your dad must have been as drunk as mine."
"No, no," Bridget said, "I saw my sister-in-law pinned to the ceiling and my brother and nephew died in that fire. The same thing killed her, Sam's mom and your mom."
"That's not possible," he shook his head.
"This must be why I've been having visions during the day. Why they're getting more intense. Cause you and I must be connected in some way. Your abilities – they started six, seven months ago, right? Out of the blue?" Sam asked.
"How'd you know that?"
"Because that's when my abilities started, Max. I mean, yours seem much further along, but still, this – this means something, right? I mean, for some reason, you and I, were chosen."
"For what and what about her?"
"Bridget was born with it, she had her differences way before us. And I don't know but Bridget, Dean and I –Bridget, my brother, and I, we're hunting for your mom's killer. And we can find answers. Answers that can help us both. But you gotta let us go. You gotta let your stepmother go."
For a moment they thought he was okay with it, that he considered it, but his look turned dark and he shook his head, "No. What they did to me – I still have nightmares! I'm still scared all the time, like I'm just waiting for their beating! I'm tired of being scared. If I do this, it'll be over."
Max stood and headed for the stairs. Bridget and Sam were quick to move in front of him. Dean was upstairs and like hell she was going to let this kid hurt him. "No, you don't get it. I won't let you hurt them."
"The nightmares won't end," Sam added. "Not like this, Max. It's just mire pain and it makes you as bad as them, you don't have to go through this yourself."
"I'm sorry," he said and Bridget was flung off her feet sliding into a closet with Sam.
"No!" She stood and launched herself at he closed doors but a large cupboard was moved in front of it. She slammed her hands against it. "No Max!"
"Max no!" Sam shouted with her, trying to get the doors to open to no avail. Sam shook his head blinking furiously as a vision swept through him, clutching his head.
"Sam?" Bridget put her hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
He grabbed at her hand and she gasped as a vision flew through her mind. Max was standing in front of Dean the gun levitating in the air. It went off, shooting Dean in the head, the wall behind him covered in blood as he fell to the floor.
Bridget panted and tried to speak, still clutching Sam's hand, her other braced against the door, in shock at what she saw. She shook her head, "No…not Dean…"
Her anger boiled in her and her hand clawed at the door, "No…"
Sam was panting, sweating heavily and his grip tightened in hers. She shook her head again. "No! No! NO!" she shouted and the cupboard flew from the door, she heard it crash into the wall. Bridget pushed the door open, looking at the shattered remains of the cupboard as it lay in debris pieces. She glanced at Sam, not doubting that he had a part in helping her move it with that force with their love for Dean. Without speaking they both ran for the staircase.
Bridget burst through the door first and saw the gun pointed at Dean. "No don't! Don't!" The gun turned sideways away from Dean, as she pushed it away from him. Max seemed taken aback seeing as how he didn't force it that way.
Sam came in behind her as she moved her way to Dean, pulling him closer to her, she wasn't sure if she could stop a bullet with her mind but she'd rather be able to try from in front of him.
Sam was trying to reason with Max as she moved in front of Dean, "We can help you, alright? But this – what you're doing – it's not a solution. It's not gonna fix anything."
Max smiled faintly, "You're right…"
Sam seemed relieved and Bridget let out a sigh. The gun twirled in the air and Bridget had a moment to frown as Max pointed it at himself and shot himself in the head. Bridget jumped, grasping at Dean's jacket and he put an arm around her on reaction as she turned her face away to his shoulder. They couldn't help him, but that was a part of it…you couldn't save everyone…even if they were good and had bad in them…you couldn't save them all. She hoped Sam would understand that.
They were walking back to the car after talking to the police and the completely broken Ms. Miller who had lost her family in a matter of days. Bridget partially sympathized, but knew if the woman had stood up for her stepson just once this wouldn't have happened.
Sam shook his head, "If I just said something else. Gotten through to him somehow…"
"Don't do that," Bridget said.
"Do what?"
"Torture yourself," Dean finished on the same wave length with her. "It wouldn't have mattered what you said. Max was too far gone."
"When I think about how he looked at me, man, right before – should've done something."
"There was nothing you could do," Bridget said. "Even I didn't know he was going to do that or I'd have tried to hold the gun longer…he'd have done it in the end."
"What do you mean hold the gun?" Dean asked. "You were in front of me, not near the gun."
Bridget cleared her throat slightly scratching the back of her head, "I'll explain that some other day when we didn't go through a bad day."
"I'll tell you one thing – we're lucky we had Dad," Sam said.
Dean looked shocked, "I never thought I'd hear you say that."
"Well, he could've gone a whole 'nother way after Mom. A little more tequila, a little less demon hunting and we would've had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out okay – thanks to him."
Bridget shook her head, "Amazing. All it took was a kid who got beat by his dad and nearly killed us all to make you realize that."
Sam chuckled and they left to the hotel to pack and leave. Bridget put her sketch book on the table and crossed to the other side to finish packing her duffel bag.
"Dean, I've been thinking," Sam said.
"That's never a goods thing," he mumbled.
"I'm serious. I've been thinking – why would them demon, or whatever it is, why would it kill Mom and Jessica and Max's mother and Bridget's brother and his wife and son, you know, what does it want?"
"No idea," Dean said.
"I've been asking myself that for awhile, Sam, and I don't even know," Bridget said when he looked at her.
"Well, you think maybe it was after us? After Max, Bridget, and me?"
"It has no use for me, Sam. I've been different awhile."
"Then why did it kill your whole family in one night and not you?"
"I don't know, Sam," she sighed. "But I'm older than you and Max and my parents didn't die in a fire. So I don't know. I try not to think about it."
"Why would you even think it, Sam?" Dean asked.
"I mean, either telekinesis or premonitions, we both had abilities, you know? Maybe it was after us for some reason," he concluded.
"Sam, if it wanted you or Bridget, for that matter, it'd have taken you both. This is not our fault. It's not about you."
"Then what is it about?"
"It's about that damn thing that did this to both our families. The thing that we're gonna find and the thing we're gonna kill. And that's all."
Sam glanced at Bridget with an apologetic look and she frowned as to why, "Actually, uh, there's something else."
Dean rolled his eyes, "Oh, jeez, what?"
"When Max locked Bridget and me in that closet," Sam said and her eyes widened clutching her duffel. "That big cabinet door – the one that was shattered…it had, uh, been against the door…Bridget and I did that. We made it move across the room and shattered it."
Dean laughed, "You two need a little more body strength to do that, no offense."
"No, we moved it…like Max…"
"Oh…right," Dean nodded and grabbed a spoon off the table holding it in front of Sam. "Bend this."
"I can't turn it on and off, Dean. It was the first time I did that and it was mostly Bridget."
Dean snorted, "She gets picture visions, Sammy."
She rubbed at her head, angry that Sam spilled her last secret.
"How'd you do it then?" Dean asked.
"I don't know. We just did. I saw you die and when I grabbed Bridget's hand she saw it too and we were both upset and it just…it flew across the room like a freak adrenaline thing."
"Well, I'm sure it won't happen again," Dean said. "If it did at all."
Bridget let out the breath she'd been holding in aggravation and looked at the spoon. She jerked it with her mind and it flew from Dean's hand to hers. He looked completely shocked as he stared at his empty hand and the spoon now in hers. She set it on the table. "I can move shit with my mind and it's not adrenaline, it's emotion. If I'm pissed off or upset or annoyed I can move things. Sam helped, he can do it too I'm guessing but he's not as advanced in it and he can't control it."
"How- you…how long have you been able to do that?" Dean asked pointing at the spoon.
"About seven years, only when I'm emotional."
"I never knew. You didn't tell me," Dean said.
"Nope, Sam found out when I was trying to move the gun back in the house during the crazy ghost lady. And you never noticed random shit being thrown at you when you pissed me off?"
"Thought it was coincidence."
"How do you think I got out of the bath tub in your old house?" she asked referring back to the poltergeist that tried to drown her to stop her from purifying the house.
"Uh…thought you just did…"
She rolled her eyes and grabbed her sketch pad, "Least you know to watch your ass around me. I can control it better when I'm upset, but accidents happen."
"So you and my bro are the spoon bender twins," he said.
"Aren't you worried, man? That I could turn into Max?"
"Nope. No way. You know, why?"
"No. Why?"
"Cause you got one advantage that Max didn't have."
"Dad? Because Dad's not here, Dean."
"No, me," he smiled. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you. Now then, I know what we need to do about your premonitions. I know where we have to go."
"Where?"
"Vegas," he grinned. Sam and Bridget exchanged looks, rolling their eyes and heading out to the car with their stuff as Dean trailed them. "What? Come on, guys. Craps table. We'd clean up. Bridget could use her telekinesis to stop the ball in roulette."
Bridget rubbed at her temples, he was going to make it way too easy to hurt him and way too hard to fight the urge…it was going to be a looonnngg car ride.