[1x14; Nightmare]

Dean couldn't sleep.

His eyes were tired and his body was lax but he couldn't get his damn mind to shut off long enough to get his usual four hours. Never before had he had such a hard time falling asleep. Usually, he'd close his eyes and within ten minutes, he'd be dead to the world.

Not that night, though, and it was pissing him off. He could hear Sam snoring in the other bed and the ticking of the clock on the wall by the bathroom but other than that, it was quiet. The noises coming from the room next to them had stopped hours ago, much to his relief.

Maybe that was why he couldn't sleep. Maybe because Julia had taken home a guy from the bar and he had to listen to them fuck through the wall because the television's volume didn't go that high and Sam was already asleep. Maybe it was because the guy wouldn't shut his fucking mouth despite the fact that he heard no such noises from Julia and had left as soon as he was done fucking her.

Maybe it was the fact that he was picturing himself with Julia. He wanted to know whether or not she was as talkative in the bedroom as she was during the day or if she kept those noises to herself, only letting out the softest of moans or gasps of pleasure. He wondered what she liked; did she like it slow and sensual, hard and fast, or both? Was she submissive or dominant? What were her kinks; spanking, blindfold, dirty talk?

Dean wasn't ashamed to say that he wanted to know everything. He had come to terms with his physical attraction to Julia a while ago, just after he had that dream when she was sick. It wasn't really that he accepted it, it was more the fact that more and more he started having dreams about her—most of them were sexy dreams but here and there, there were some that included them being all domesticated with each other—and when he had sex with Cassie, he was kind of wishing he was there with Julia, instead.

And he had no right to be jealous because they were not together and he didn't even think Julia saw him as anything but a big brother, but he was anyway. When she told him at the bar that she was bringing some pretentious blonde guy she had been dancing with back to the motel, he wanted to say something and deny her but he couldn't. Julia wasn't his—she was a single independent woman who could sleep with anyone she wanted.

Dean just wished it was him warming her bed and not some random douchebag.

He heard Sam's steady breathing quicken from the bed beside him. He looked over as his brother began to squirm in his sleep, no doubt having one of his usual nightmares. It wasn't long until Sam woke, sitting up in the bed.

"Dean?" Sam turned to Dean, his eyes wide with fear.

Dean sat up, too, his voice groggy despite his lack of sleep. "Hey," he said soothingly. "What's wrong? It's the middle of the night."

Sam didn't answer as he turned on the light on the nightstand between the beds. He jumped from his bed and went straight to his bag, hurriedly stuffing his clothes back into it.

"We have to go," he told Dean as he set his bag down and made his way toward the door connecting to Julia's room.

Dean rolled out of bed and fixed his brother with a questioning look. "What are you talking about?"

"We have to go right now," Sam repeated, knocking insistently on Julia's door. "Come on, Julia, wake up!"

Bewildered, Dean slowly walked over to his bag and started packing, leaving out a set of clothes to change into. He had no idea what made Sam so upset but it was worrying him. What if it was another one of those freaky visions Sam kept on having?

The connecting door opened behind Sam's fist, revealing a groggy Julia dressed in her regular pajamas. "What the hell is going on?" she rubbed her left eye with her fist and set her gaze on Sam. "Sam?"

"Just get ready to go," he told her firmly. "Now. We're leaving."

"O-Okay…" Julia shot Dean a curious look but he just shrugged and slid into the bathroom to change.

Twenty minutes later they were checked out of their rooms and on the interstate headed north. Sam had explained that he did have another one of his visions. He told Julia and Dean that he saw a man get murdered in his garage by something invisible and he wanted to be there to save him.

Dean didn't really believe that Sam's nightmare was anything but a nightmare—he hoped, anyway—but Julia could feel the distress pouring off of Sam. He really believed that his nightmare was a vision so she believed it was, too.

An hour into the drive, Sam pulled out his phone to get a location on the man. "McReady. Detective McReady," he informed the dispatch number he called, consulting a fake badge that he had stolen. "Badge number 1-5-8. I've got a signal four-eighty in progress and I need the registered owner of a two-door sedan, Michigan license plate Mary-Frank-six-zero-three-seven…Yeah, okay, just hurry."

He waited on hold, a tense look on his face.

"Sammy, relax," Dean advised him tiredly. "I'm sure it's just a nightmare."

Sam scoffed. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"I mean it," Dean insisted. "Ya know, a normal, everyday, naked-in-class nightmare. This license plate, it won't check out. You'll see."

"It felt different, Dean. It was real," Sam sighed, almost in defeat. "Like when I dreamt about our old house and Jessica."

Dean still didn't want to believe that this was a vision. "Yeah, that makes sense. You're dreaming about our house and your girlfriend. This guy in your dream, have you ever seen him before?"

"No."

"No, exactly," Dean nodded in satisfaction. "Why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan?"

"I don't know," Sam's voice took on a tone of annoyance. Dean agreed was Sam was taken off hold. "Yes, I'm here…" he gave Dean a triumphant look as he repeated what dispatch told him. "Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. You have a street address?"

Julia reached over the seat, handing him a notepad to write the address down on. He took it and scribbled down a house number and street name.

"Got it, thanks," Sam said gratefully before ending the call.

"It checks out?" Julia asked tentatively, leaning her chin on the back of the front seat.

Sam nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed before turning to Dean, who looked a little freaked out. "How far are we?"

"From Saginaw?" Dean shrugged. "A couple of hours."

Sam pressed his lips together worriedly. "Drive faster."

They arrived in Saginaw too late. There were already three police cars and an ambulance outside Jim Miller's house. A crowd of neighborhood residents had already gathered outside the house, watching as two coroners wheeled out their neighbor in a black body bag.

Julia, Dean, and Sam joined the crowd, fitting into the back.

"What happened?" Julia asked the older woman standing next to her.

"Suicide," the woman shook her head sadly. "I can't believe it."

Sam came up on the other side of her, giving her a curious look. "Did you know them?"

"I saw him every Sunday at St. Augustine's," she sighed. "He always seemed so normal. I guess you never know what's going on behind closed doors."

Dean hummed on the other side of Julia. "Guess not."

"How did—uh, how are they saying it happened?" Sam asked delicately.

"I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running."

Julia inhaled shakily and looked over to Dean. What the woman said sounded exactly like what Sam told them happened in his nightmare—or, vision was more appropriate. Dean looked down at her with fear in his eyes so she quickly grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

"Do you know about what time they found him?" Sam continued to speak with the woman.

"Oh, it just happened about an hour or two ago," the woman informed him. "His poor family. I can't even imagine what they're going through."

Julia smiled sadly and looked back at the house. A woman—who she presumed was Jim Miller's wife—was being comforted by a man her age and a younger guy, around Sam's age.

The three of the split off from the crowd to head back to the Impala. Julia had let go of Dean's hand when she saw the upset look on Sam's face and immediately went to him, wrapping her arm around his waist to offer some comfort.

"Sam," Dean sighed, noticing how down his brother was. "we got here as fast as we could."

"Not fast enough," Sam disagreed. "This doesn't make any sense. Why would I even have these premonitions if there wasn't a chance I could stop them from happening?"

Dean just shook his head, his eyes back on the mourning Miller family. "I don't know."

"So," Julia spoke up; if Sam said that he saw someone—or something—killing Jim Miller and it was invisible, didn't it mean this was their type of case? "what do you think killed him?"

"Maybe the guy just killed himself," Dean stated, turning back to Julia and Sam. "Maybe there's nothing supernatural going on at all."

Sam shook his head immediately. "I'm telling you, I watched it happen," he insisted. "He was murdered by something, Dean. I watched it trap him in the garage."

"Like what?" Dean said quickly, more than skeptical. "A spirit, a poltergeist—what?"

"I don't know what it was," Sam grew irritated with Dean's attitude. "I don't know why I'm having these dreams. I don't know what the fuck is happening, Dean."

"We'll figure it out, Sam," Julia assured him.

Sam nodded at her and then eyed his brother, who was looking at him intensely. "What?"

"Nothing," Dean shrugged. "I'm just—I'm worried about you, man."

"Well, don't look at me like that!"

Dean quickly looked away. "I'm not looking at you like anything," he said innocently; Julia rolled her eyes at the both of them. "Though, I gotta say, you do look like shit."

Sam gave Dean his bitch face. "Nice. Thanks."

"Stop arguing, boys," Julia sighed, unwrapping her arm from Sam's waist to walk to the left side of the Impala. "We can pick this up in the morning so—"

"Since when are you in charge, shortcake?" Dean interrupted her with raised eyebrows.

Julia gave him a deadpan face. "Did you want to do the honors?"

"Yes," Dean nodded firmly and cleared his throat. "We'll pick this up in the morning. We'll check out the house. We'll talk to the family."

"Guys, you saw them," Sam stated. "They're devastated. They're not going to want to talk to us."

A slow smirk spread over Dean's face. "Yeah, you're right," he admitted, almost giddily. "but I think I know who they will talk to."

Julia and Sam gave him confused looks, speaking in unison, "Who?"

Dean just winked at them and opened the driver's door, sliding into his seat.

"Absolutely not," Julia yelled at Dean, looking down at the costume on the bed. "I am—I can't believe that you—oh, my God, Dean! No!"

"I don't see the big deal," Dean shrugged as he picked up the headpiece that went with her costume. "You'll look hot."

"Nuns are not supposed to be hot," she ripped it away from him with a glare. "and you shouldn't wear that, either!"

Dean looked down at the priest outfit that he had changed into. "Why not?" he looked at her as if it was all perfectly normal. "The family will talk to us if they—"

"It's disrespectful—"

"Like you haven't done disrespectful things," Dean scoffed. "Like last night when you—"

"Dean Jonah Winchester, I will cut off your tongue, I swear—"

"I'd like to see you try, shortcake."

"Ugh, you're so frustrating!"

"Would you guys just shut up?" Sam called as he walked out of the bathroom, changed into his priest outfit with his hair slicked back nicely.

Dean pointed at Julia. "She started it."

Julia gaped at him, amazed by his gall. "I started it? Are you—"

"Hey!" Sam interrupted Julia before she could start the bickering all over again. "Dean, you should have known that Julia wasn't going to wear that. J, you have to dress up as something or no one will talk to you."

"I'm not gonna be a nun," Julia insisted, crossing her arms over her chest. "but, I can be a grief counselor."

Sam sighed and nodded, relieved that she had another plan. "Good, get dressed."

Julia beamed at him and, before she grabbed a change of clothes from her bag, shot Dean a dirty look. Dean just rolled his eyes at her while she stomped into the bathroom to get ready for the wake at the Miller house.

"Churches have grief counselors?" Dean asked Sam, stuffing the nun costume back into its rental bag.

"Some of the bigger ones do," Sam confirmed. "but J was right. This has gotta be a whole new low for us."

"Hey, we want the family to talk to us, right?"

Dean was right; the priests outfits got them into the Miller house without looking suspicious.

"Good afternoon," Dean greeted the man who opened the door and gave the three of them unimpressed looks. "I'm Father Simmons, this is Father Frehley, and that is Miss Stanley, our newest grief counselor. We were sent over from St. Augustine's. May we come in?"

The man pressed his lips together and nodded, stepping aside so they could enter.

"Thank you," Sam said graciously.

"We're very sorry for your loss," Julia gave the man a sympathetic smile.

"It's in difficult times like these when the Lord's guidance is most needed—"

"Look," the man interrupted Dean. "you wanna pitch your whole Lord-has-a-plan thing, fine. Just don't pitch it to me. My brother's dead."

"Roger," a woman's voice spoke up behind them. "please!"

Roger gave her a semi-apologetic look and nodded at Julia, Dean, and Sam. "Excuse me."

The woman walked over to them as Roger moved away. "I'm sorry about my brother-in-law," she said wearily. "He's…he's just so upset about Jim's death. Would you like some coffee?"

Dean smiled at the teary-eyed woman. "That would be great."

Mrs. Miller led them through the house and told them to sit in the living room while she got them coffee. Julia and Dean sat on the three-seater couch, leaving room for Mrs. Miller to sit, while Sam sat in one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table.

Mrs. Miller soon came back with four mugs and a pot of steaming coffee. "It was wonderful of you to stop by," she said, handing Sam a steaming mug. "The support of the church means so much right now."

Julia smiled and opened her mouth to reply but Dean beat her to it.

"Of course," he said indulgently. "After all, we are all God's children."

Julia pressed her lips together as Mrs. Miller awkwardly turned away from them to put the coffee pot back in the kitchen. She turned to Dean with a glare, watching as he hurriedly picked up one of the cocktail sausages from the plate on the table.

Sam scoffed and shook his head at his brother.

"What?"

"You should probably tone it down," Julia whispered, a little tensely. "No one speaks like that."

Dean rolled his eyes at her and dropped the toothpick back onto the platter. It was then that Mrs. Miller came back and sat down on the couch next to Julia.

"So, Mrs. Miller, did your husband have a history of depression?" Julia asked gently.

"Nothing like that," Mrs. Miller shook her head, her voice hitching with emotion. "We had our ups and downs like everyone but we were happy…" she broke down into pain-filled cries. "I just don't understand how Jim could do something like this."

Feeling the genuine grief and sadness in Mrs. Miller made Julia's eyes sting. She carefully grabbed the older woman's hand and held it for a second, offering her comfort. "I'm so sorry you had to find him like that."

Mrs. Miller sniffed. "Actually, our son, Max," she gestured into the dining room, where a guy Sam's age was sitting alone in the corner. "he was the one who found him."

"Do you mind if maybe, I go talk to him?" Sam asked Mrs. Miller.

She gave Sam a grateful look. "Oh, thank you, Father."

Sam smiled and stood up, leaving the living room so he could talk to Max. Dean moved to his brother's previous seat so he could face Mrs. Miller head-on and not have to look over Julia's shoulder.

"Mrs. Miller, you have a lovely home," he complimented her as Julia handed her a tissue. "How long have you lived here?"

Mrs. Miller furrowed her eyebrows thoughtfully. "We moved in about five years ago."

Dean nodded. "The only problem with these old houses," he shrugged casually. "I bet you have all kinds of headaches."

"Like what?"

"Well, weird leaks, electrical shortages, odd settling noises at night," he listed for her. "That kind of thing."

"No," Mrs. Miller. "nothing like that. It's been perfect."

"Huh," he hummed. "May I use your restroom?"

"Oh, sure, it's just up the stairs," Mrs. Miller pointed in the direction.

Julia gave Dean a panicked look, as she had never questioned a family member by herself before. He gave her a thumb's up in return when Mrs. Miller wasn't watching, grabbing a cocktail sausage to go.

"So, Mrs. Miller," Julia took over the conversation now that Dean was gone to look for any abnormalities upstairs. "how long were you and Mr. Miller together, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Almost twenty years now," Mrs. Miller dabbed her eyes with the tissue again. "We worked together and we just clicked. We were married in the summer. It was beautiful."

"It sounds like it," Julia agreed. "Michigan summers are the best, aren't they?"

Mrs. Miller nodded.

They continued to speak for a couple of minutes, with Julia prompting Mrs. Miller to answer most of her questions. It was hard sneaking in if Mrs. Miller knew if her husband had any enemies but somehow, Mrs. Miller didn't think she was a freak. She comforted the woman as best as she could.

"I don't know if this will bring you any comfort, but when my mother died, a verse was spoken at her funeral," Julia shared with her; Mrs. Miller smiled weakly. "It's Psalm 73:26. My flesh and my heart may fail but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. It really helped me through the next couple of days."

"Psalm 73:26?" Mrs. Miller checked, making sure she remember it correctly so she could take a look herself.

Julia nodded, her eyes darting to the side when she saw Sam and Dean walk into the living room again. "I will be praying for you, Mrs. Miller," she promised the woman. "and I hope to see you again."

"You too, Miss Stanley," Mrs. Miller stood up with Julia and gave Sam and Dean grateful handshakes. "Thank you for coming, Fathers."

Dean nodded. "God bless you."

Behind Mrs. Miller's back, Sam and Julia shared exasperated looks.

Julia sat at the table back in the motel room, online shopping while finishing up the rest of the salad and fries she had for dinner. Dean and Sam were long done with their eating and now Dean was cleaning their weapons while Sam went through the information surrounding the Miller's house.

Levi and Beth's birthday was only a week away and Julia still hadn't found anything to get Levi. Beth was easy to shop for; she was a typical girl that spoke about her hobbies every time she spoke to someone—just the other day when they had their weekly call, she had mentioned that she'd been baking lately, so Julia got her a couple of cookbooks, a standing mixer, professional baking pans, and a personalized apron. Levi, though, was close-lipped about a lot of the things he enjoyed. He was busy most of the time with PSC as the head of sales but he did make time to work-out, go to church, and visit family.

There was something that Julia remembered about Levi that might lead her to something to get for him. When he was a teenager, she remembered him raving about his science classes. He loved biology and chemistry but his true love was astronomy. He had vacation time coming up—as far as she knew—so maybe a trip to Houston to visit NASA would be nice. That was a great idea and around the same price as Beth's present. She quickly bought the a round-trip ticket from Chicago to Houston and booked the tour of NASA for a day during Levi's vacation.

She popped a couple of fries in her mouth, satisfied; everything was set for the twins' birthday. All she had to do was print out the information for Levi and pick up the presents for Beth.

"What do you have?"

Julia looked up at Dean's question, noticing that he was currently cleaning his beloved saw-off. Something so simple shouldn't have been so attractive.

"A whole lotta nothing," Sam sighed heavily from his spot across the table and stood up to go to the bed they were sharing. "Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built."

"What about the land?" Julia wondered.

Sam plopped down on the bed. "No graveyards, battlefields, tribal lands, or any kind of atrocity on or near the property."

Julia frowned in confusion; then what was the thing that killed Jim Miller?

"Hey, man, I told you," Dean started putting his saw-off back together. "I searched that house up and down. No cold spots, sulfur scent…nada."

"And the family said everything was normal?"

Julia nodded. "Yeah."

"If there was a demon or poltergeist in there somebody would have noticed it," Dean added. "I used the infrared scanner, man, and there was nothing."

Sam sighed heavily. "So, what, you think Jim Miller killed himself and my dream was just some sort of freakish coincidence?"

"I dunno," Dean shrugged. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing supernatural about that house."

A grimace flitted across Sam's face as he reached up to rub his temples. "Yeah, well, maybe it has nothing to with the house," he inhaled deeply, in pain, and Julia gave him a worried look. "Maybe it's just—fuck—maybe it's connected to Jim some other way?"

"Sam," Julia stood up to walk over to him. "are you okay?"

"Ah!" Sam cried out as he winched roughly, moving to cup his head and falling to his knees on the floor beside the bed; while Julia crouched down next to him, Dean got off his bed and rushed over, placing himself on Sam's over side. "My head!"

"Sam?" Dean asked frantically as Sam continued to make anguished noises, unable to answer. "Hey, what's going on? Talk to me."

Sam pulled his hands from his eyes and grabbed one of Julia's arms and one of Dean's to steady himself. Julia inhaled softly as she felt his energy twist—it was almost dark, the way it moved through him, clashing with the brightness of his soul. She grew panicked as he stared at them—even though he wasn't really looking at them but through them.

He was seeing something.

"Sam," Julia tried to gain his attention but he couldn't answer. She placed her free hand on his hand that held her arm. "Sam, come on!"

"Sam!" Dean barked.

Sam blinked quickly, his eyes filling with terror. "It's happening again," he told them, squeezing their arms. "Something's gonna kill Roger Miller."

They couldn't save Roger Miller.

They tried to but Roger still thought that they were with the church and he wasn't happy to see them. He went up to his apartment and by the time Sam and Dean climbed the fire escape, Roger's head was chopped off his body with a window.

They were stumped; there was nothing wrong with the house and Dean didn't find anything in Roger's apartment, either. The only thing that connected them—other than the victims being brothers, of course—was that Sam had a vision of both deaths. Figuring that something had attached itself onto the Miller family, they headed back to the Miller house to speak to Max, Jim Miller's son.

"My mom's resting," Max told them as he led them into the living room. "She's pretty wrecked."

"Of course," Dean agreed as he, Julia, and Sam squished themselves into the couch while Max took a chair.

"All these people kept coming with casseroles," Max muttered bitterly. "I finally had to tell them to go away. You know, cause nothing says I'm sorry like a tuna casserole."

Julia smiled at him, trying to hide how uncomfortable the guy made her feel. The energy he gave off, it made a shiver go down her spine. It was dark but it was also familiar. She just couldn't place it.

"So," she pushed away her uneasiness to speak softly . "How are you holding up, Max?"

"Okay," Max shrugged.

"Your dad and your uncle were close?" Sam wondered.

"Yeah, I guess," Max replied. "I mean, they were brothers. They used to hang out all the time when I was little."

"But not lately much?"

"No, it's not that," he shook his head. "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 in understanding. "So, how was it in that house when you were a kid?"

Max hesitated for a second and Julia could feel his energy twisting; anxiety, fear, and relief mixed with the darkness. "Fine," he told them. "Why?"

"All good memories?" Dean prodded. "Do you remember anything unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle, maybe?"

Max shook his head nervously. "Why do you—why do you ask?"

Julia's heart dropped at his reaction. He was obviously nervous about Dean's question and the way anxiety and fear seemed to wrap around him so tightly made her think that something bad went on when Max was a kid.

Her eyes stung in realization.

"It's just a question."

"No, there was nothing," Max said after inhaling deeply. "We were totally normal. Happy."

"Good. That's good," there was a sad look in Dean's eyes. "Well, you must be exhausted. We should take off."

"Right," Sam nodded at his brother and then smiled at Max as the three of them stood up. "Thanks."

Max gave them one last smile as he led them out of the house. Julia, Sam, and Dean started walking down to the Impala, where she was parked on the street.

"No one's family is totally normal and happy," Dean grumbled. "Did you see when he was talking about his old house?"

"He sounded scared," Sam nodded.

"He felt scared," Julia admitted; they gave her confused looks. "His energy. At first, it was dark but as soon as Sam asked about the old house, it changed. It was almost all anxiety and fear."

"Yeah," Dean sighed as he opened the driver's door. "Max isn't telling us everything. I saw we go find the old neighborhood and find out what life was really like for the Millers."

After Sam hacked into the Millers' records, he found the address of the home they used to live in. It only took twenty minutes to get across town and find the little neighborhood. The houses that Jim and Roger Miller owned were nearly identical, though one was gray and one was mustard-yellow.

Thankfully, they saw that the man who lived across the street was out working in his lawn.

"Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?" Julia asked the man after introducing herself, Dean, and Sam.

"Yeah, almost twenty years," the man confirmed. "Why? Are you looking to buy?"

"No, no," Sam shook his head. "Actually, we were wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street."

"Yeah, the Millers. They had a little boy named Max," Dean held his hand out by his waist, simulating the height of a child.

The man's face fell. "Yeah, I remember them," he said sadly. "The brother had the place next door. So, uh, what's this about? Is that poor kid okay?"

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well, in my life, I've never seen a child treated like that," the man shifted uncomfortably. "I'd heard Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street. He was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar out of Max—bruises and he broke his arm two times that I know of."

Julia wrinkled her nose sadly. "And this was going on regularly?"

"Practically every day," he nodded; she swallowed down her emotions. "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 of eight times but it never did any good."

"Now, you said step-mother?" Dean asked.

"I think his real mother died," the man sighed. "Some sort of accident. A car accident, I think. It—are you okay, there?"

Julia and Dean turned to Sam, seeing that his face was scrunched up in pain and he was holding his head again. Dean grabbed Sam to make sure he didn't fall and started making his way back to the car.

"Sorry about that," Julia apologized to the nice man. "Thank you so much for your time."

The man nodded. "No problem."

By the time Julia got back to the Impala, Sam was in the middle of another vision. Once Julia was buckled in, Dean drove off, back in the direction of the motel they were staying at. Halfway there, Sam's vision ended and he informed them that it was Max that was killing his family and his next victim was Mrs. Miller.

"You sure about this?" Dean asked, briefly looking at him.

"Yeah, I saw him."

"How is he doing it, though?" Julia leaned toward the front seat. "I mean, how did he get away with it?"

"I don't know," Sam shook his head. "but it look like telekinesis."

"What, so he's psychic?" Dean asked in disbelief. "He's a spoon bender?"

"I didn't even realize it but this whole time he was there," Sam sighed, frustrated. "He was outside the garage when his dad died, outside the apartment when his uncle died. These visions, the whole time I wasn't connecting to the Millers. I was connecting to Max," he shook his head. "The thing I don't get is why. I guess because we're so alike?"

"What are you talking about?" Dean wrinkled his brow. "The dude's nothing like you."

"Well, we both have psychic abilities, we both…" Sam trailed off.

"Both what?" Dean gave him a pointed look. "Sam, Max is a monster. He's already killed two people and now he's gunning for a third."

"But look what he's been through," Julia pointed out. She didn't think killing people was the right thing—that should have never been an option for Max—but he was abused almost all of his life. He was afraid of his father and uncle and his stepmother did nothing to stop it. The people who were supposed to protect him were the ones hurting him in the first place.

Dean gave her a shocked look through the rearview mirror.

"Look, I don't think what he did was right," Julia defended herself. "but his family abused him. He wants revenge."

"It doesn't sound insane," Sam agreed.

"Yeah but it doesn't justify murdering your entire family!" Dean argued.

"Dean—"

"He's no different than anything else we've hunted, all right?" Dean turned down the Miller's street and pulled over in front of their house. "We gotta end him."

"We're not going to kill Max," Sam told his brother.

"Then what?" Dean challenged him. "Hand him over to the cops and say, 'Lock him up, officer, he kills with the power of his mind'?"

"No way," Sam shook his head firmly. "Forget it."

Dean turned off the engine. "Sam…"

"Dean, he's a person. We can talk to him," Sam stated. "Hey, promise you'll follow my lead on this one."

Dean paused for a couple of seconds; Julia watched him carefully. "All right, fine," he finally agreed. "but I'm not letting him hurt anybody else."

He leaned over Sam's seat and opened the glove compartment, pulling out the gun he hid inside. They all got out of the car and Dean put the gun in his waistband while they walked up to the door.

They didn't wait to be polite and ring the doorbell. Dean busted through the front door and Julia and Sam quickly filed in, all three of them stopping in their tracks when Max and Mrs. Miller turned to look at them.

"Fathers?" Mrs. Miller asked, bewildered. "Miss Stanley?"

Max looked at them with tired and blank eyes. "What are you doing here?"

"Ah, sorry to interrupt," Dean said casually while Julia waved at them.

"Max, can we talk to you outside for just one second?" Sam asked politely.

Max's face instantly turned suspicious. "About what?"

"It's—it's private," Sam faltered. "We wouldn't want to bother your mother with it."

"We won't be long, Mrs. Miller," Julia assured the woman sweetly. "I promise."

Mrs. Miller gave Max a nervous look until Max agreed. "Okay."

"Great."

Max walked over to the door, passing Sam and Julia on his way. When Dean opened the door for him, he paused. The door and all the windows snapped shut at once, leaving the house a little darker and a whole lot scarier.

"You're not priests," Max backed away and declared as Dean drew his gun.

The gun flew out of his hands, into Max's. He turned it around and held it on Julia, Sam, and Dean.

"Max, what's happening?" Mrs. Miller cried nervously.

"Shut up!"

"What are you doing?"

Max simply looked at her and she was airborne, crying out when she slammed her head against the kitchen island and landed in a heap on the floor.

"I said shut up!" Max yelled at her, his face turning crimson red.

"Max, calm down!"

"Who are you?" he looked back to Sam.

"We just wanna talk," Sam assured him.

"Yeah, right," Max scoffed and nodded at the gun. "That's why you brought this!"

Julia breathed in shakily as she read Max's energy. It was so much darker than before. There was so much hate and sadness and fear that it was turning him into a monster. Maybe Dean was right…

"That was a mistake, all right," Sam tried to calm his down. "So was lying about who we were…but no more lying, Max, okay? Just please, hear me out."

"About what?"

"I saw you do it," Sam admitted to him. "I saw you kill your dad and your uncle before it happened?"

Max blinked at him, the gun still aimed toward him. "What?"

"I'm having visions, Max," Sam told him. "About you."

Max shook his head. "You're crazy."

"So, what, you weren't gonna launch a knife at your stepmom?" Sam tapped his left eye. "Right here? Is it that hard to believe, Max? Look at what you can do. Max, I was drawn here, all right? I think I'm here to help you."

Tears started rolling down Max's red cheeks. "No one can help me."

"Let me try," Sam insisted. "We'll just talk, me and you. We'll get Dean, Julia, and Alice out of here—"

"Nuh-uh," Dean interrupted, shaking his head angrily. "No way."

"Sam…" There was no way Julia was going to leave Sam by himself with Max, especially if Dean stayed, too.

The chandelier that hung above Julia and Dean's head started to shake. Julia's eyes immediately went to it, growing wide in fear when she saw that it was about to fall on them.

"Nobody leaves the house!" Max demanded angrily.

"And nobody has to, all right?" Sam quickly placated him. "They'll just…they'll just go upstairs."

"Sam, we're not leaving you alone with him," Dean argued.

"Yes, you are," Sam didn't even look at Dean as he responded, his eyes still on Max. "Look, Max, you're in charge here, all right? We all know that. No one's going to do anything you don't want to do but I'm talking five minutes here, man."

"Sam!"

Max looked at Mrs. Miller before turning back to Sam. "Five minutes," he agreed as the chandelier above Julia and Dean stopped shaking. "Go!"

Julia quickly tapped Dean's arm before rushing into the kitchen to help Mrs. Miller. Dean followed her, taking the brunt of the older woman's body as they got here out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Mrs. Miller directed them into her room, her face soaked with the blood that fell from her cut brow. Dean sat on the bed with her while Julia rummaged around in the master bathroom, looking for a first aid kit. She finally found one in the back of the cupboard behind the sink. It wasn't filled much but it had enough to disinfect the wound and place a bandage on it.

Julia was in the middle of cleaning Mrs. Miller's wound when the door slid open by itself. Max walked through the door, Dean's gun still in his hand, and the door slammed shut behind him. When Dean went to move to defend Mrs. Miller, he was thrown back into the wall behind Julia.

"Max," Mrs. Miller said sadly as Julia scrambled to her feet to stand in front of her when he aimed the gun at her.

"Max, please don't do this," Julia begged him. "We can help you."

Max simply cocked the gun; Julia gulped heavily. Then, she felt a hand grabbed her elbow and forcefully pull her to the side. Dean took her place in front of Mrs. Miller, glaring at Max with hard eyes.

"Stay back," Max ordered him as he dropped his hand and let the gun float in the air. "It's not about you."

Dean shook his head. "You want to kill her, you're gonna have to go through me, first."

"Dean!"

There was no emotion on Max's face. "Okay."

The door burst open and Sam appeared, his face crazed with urgency and panic. "No, don't!" he yelled at Max. "Please, Max, we can help you, all right? But this, what you're doing, it's not the solution. It's not going to fix anything."

Max shook, his face deep red as he cried. He stared at Sam for a long time, desperation and misery in his expression. "You're right."

Sam smiled, relieved that Max was going to listen to him, but it quickly fell when the gun swung in the air to face Max.

"NO!"

The gunshot rippled through the air and the bullet pierced Max's forehead, dropping his body to the ground. Julia stared at his body in shock, her eyes flickering to the massive amount of blood and brain matter on the wall behind it.

"Max attacked me," Mrs. Miller tearfully told a deputy that had come to get her statement about Max's death. "He threatened me with a gun."

The police officer nodded over to Julia, Dean, and Sam, who were standing near her to give her support and make sure she didn't mess up the cover-up they concocted. "And these three?"

"They're family friends," Mrs. Miller's wet eyes trailed over to them. "I called them as soon as Max arrived because I was scared. They tried to stop him; they fought for the gun."

"Where did Max get the gun?"

Mrs. Miller's face crumpled as she started to sob. "I don't know. He showed up with it and…"

"It's all right, Mrs. Miller," the officer tried to comfort her.

"I've lost everyone," she sobbed heavily.

It was clear that the officer didn't know how to comfort a crying woman. He awkwardly turned to Julia, Dean, and Sam, and told them, "We'll give you a call if we have any further questions."

Julia smiled half-heartedly. "Thank you, Officer."

Dean patted Sam's arm while taking Julia's hand to tug them out of the house. "Come on."

As soon as they were walking on the sidewalk down to the Impala parked at the side of the road, Sam started up with his self-deprecation.

"If I'd just said something else," he sighed sadly. "Gotten through to him somehow."

"Don't do that, Sam," Julia took his hand while still holding Dean's with her other. "You did what you could."

"You can't torture yourself," Dean added seriously. "It wouldn't have mattered what you said, Max was too far gone."

Sam shook his head. "When I think about how he looked at me, right before…I should have done something."

"Come on, man, you risked your life," Dean let go of Julia's hand and unlocked Baby, opening the driver's door. "I mean, yeah, maybe if we had gotten there twenty years earlier."

Sam inhaled deeply as he and Julia walked around to their side of the car. "Well, I'll tell you one thing," he said to Dean. "We're lucky we had Dad."

Dean gave him a surprised, but pleased, look. "Well, I never thought I'd hear you say that."

Sam shrugged. "Well, it could have gone a whole other way after Mom. A little more tequila and a little less demon hunting and we could have had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out okay thanks to him."

Dean nodded in agreement. "All things considered."