**Hey! Okay, so here's the next update, and I hope you all like it! Review please! I'm dying to know what you all think, and I'm super excited for the next episode! Thanks again for reading, and quick disclaimer (I don't own the characters blah blah blah) REVIEW!**

Nightmare

"Dean. Mel," I blinked groggily at first, but the genuine fear in Sam's voice forced me out of my sleepy stupor. I sat up as he flicked on the light and shook a still sleeping Dean.

"What happened?" I questioned as he went over to his black duffel and began throwing his things into it. We'd finished the hunt at one, and we'd been so exhausted we'd only gotten one room with twin beds. I glanced at the clock. We'd been sleeping for exactly three hours.

"What're you doin'? It's the middle of the night," Dean groaned as I pushed the blankets off of me and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I could hear Sam's heart pounding wildly in his chest, and it was clear that something had spooked him badly. I got up and crossed the room to the bathroom to get my stuff.

"We have to go," Sam informed us as I brushed my teeth quickly.

"What's happening?" I rinsed my mouth and then set to furiously brushing my hair and sweeping it into a ponytail. I shoved my makeup and toothbrush in my bag along with my toothpaste and hairbrush.

"We have to go now," Sam insisted, ignoring Dean's confused question. I zipped my bag as Dean got up, looking at the two of us like we'd just grown three heads.

"Why? What's going on?" Sam opened the door, and walked out while Dean groaned again and threw on his jacket, picking up his duffel before following Sam with me shutting the door behind him. We threw our stuff into the car and hit the road. "Would you like to tell us what the hell is going on?"

"I had a nightmare. A guy up in Michigan, I think. He was in his car, and the doors locked," Sam was stringing his words together as he got out his phone and dialed, writing furiously on a piece of paper before the guy on the line picked up.

"Hi this is officer McCreedy," He spoke hurriedly into the phone. "Badge number 158. I've got a hit on a 4-80 in progress. I need the owner of a tuber sedan. Michigan license plate. Mary-Frank- 6037,"

It'll take a moment to process. The voice on the other line warned him.

"Yeah, okay, just hurry," He replied.

"Relax, Sammy, it was probably just a nightmare," Dean tried to reassure him, but the sinking feeling in my gut told me he was wrong. Sam turned to look at me.

"What do you think?" He gazed at me with fear and urgency in his eyes, and I sighed.

"I think you're right. The nightmare was real… or is going to be anyway," I corrected myself and caught Dean's eyes in the mirror.

"Look, this could've just been a normal, everyday, naked-in-class nightmare," My lips twitched at Dean's joke, but I could see past it. He was worried about Sam. "This license plate - it won't check out. You'll see," He glanced at me in the rearview, and I knew the license plate would check out. I don't know how I knew, but I did.

"It felt different, Dean. Real. Like when I dreamt about our old house and Jessica," Sam tried to explain.

"Well, yeah, that makes sense. You were dreaming about our old house, your girlfriend. This guy in your dream - you ever see him before?" Dean questioned logically.

"No," Sam muttered.

"No, exactly. Why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan?" I bit my lip. Dean had a point.

"Maybe he's connected to us somehow," I suggested, not saying what was on the tip of my tongue. Maybe he knew John.

"Maybe," Sam agreed, and then, speaking into the phone. "Yes, I'm here," He moved the pen and paper so he could write better, shooting Dean a meaningful look. "Jim Miller - Saginaw, Michigan. You have a street address? Got it. Thank you," He turned to face Dean and I. "It checks out. How far are we?"

"Couple hours. Three at the most," I answered for Dean, knowing he didn't like this. Sam glanced at me before turning his eyes on Dean.

"Drive faster," Was all Sam said. We'd been driving for two hours, and we were just getting close when it happened. One moment I was lazily drifting off to sleep, and the next I let out a long hiss through clenched teeth and jerked upright.

There was a mechanical whirring sound and then a clank. There was the definitive click of a lock shutting. I was in the front seat of a car. I could feel the steering wheel beneath my hands. The engine revved. Confusion. Confusion; I didn't turn it on. Jingling. The key wouldn't turn. Panic. The radio was on. I want y'all to take a look at the… and just in one hour… caught it in his right hand! Coughing. Panic. Blind panic. Banging. Someone was trying to kick the windows in. I was. Coughing. Snap. Something had broken. The keys.

"Help! Somebody help me!" A man's voice. Middle aged. "Help!" More coughing. Bang. His booted foot bashed against the unyielding window. I'll be home 'round midnight… Ricky's stealing third base! The banging . The radio turned to static. No more panic.

"Melody!" I gasped, jerking away from the hands that were shaking me. My eyes darted around the dark room. No. It wasn't a room. It was the backseat of the Impala. My head snapped to the source of the hands that were gripping my wrists, and I found myself gazing into dark green pools of concern.

"He's dead," I slumped into the seat of the Impala, breathing hard. "We're too late. He's dead,"

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, completely ignoring what I'd said. I nodded, swallowing hard, remembering the blind panic I'd felt. "Melody!" He snapped when I still remained silence. Maybe it was the use of my full name or maybe it was the worry and hint of fear in Dean's voice, but for whatever reason, I snapped out of my stupor.

"Yes, I'm okay," I caught my breath, my eyes meeting Dean's. "Really, I'm alright," I assured him, taking in his unconvinced gaze. My eyes slid past him and focused on Sam's wide ones.

"What was that?" He demanded, his expression the picture of shock.

"I'll explain on the way," I told him, realizing that we had to get there before the cops left so we could find out all we could. Dean hesitated, glancing at me for a moment before sliding out of the backseat and into the driver's again.

"So, explain," Sam prompted after we'd been riding in silence for a minute. I sighed before taking a deep breath and launching into an explanation. Thirty minutes later we were pulling up in front of the Miller house that was taped off and surrounded with cop cars. My eyes focused on the sleek, black body bag that was being zipped up on a stretcher. Dean turned back to meet my troubled eyes with his own before turning his gaze on Sam.

"Come on," I opened the car door and slipped out into the cold night air, pulling my grey jacket tighter around me as I joined the small crowd that was beginning to form around the tape. I felt Dean join me on my right while Sam stood a little ways off to my left.

"What happened?" Dean questioned to no one in particular.

"Suicide," The older lady with blonde hair didn't turn as she answered Dean. "I can't believe it," She glanced at Dean and I for a brief second before shaking her head sadly.

"Were you friends?" I questioned her, trying to hear what the medics were saying above the whispers of the crowd.

"I saw him ever day at St. Augustine's," She reflected, still not able to tear her eyes from the crime scene. "He always seems… seemed so normal. Guess you never know what's going on behind closed doors,"

"Guess not," Dean echoed distractedly, staring at the crime scene. I heard the cops expressing their sorrow to the woman who was leaning on the door looking frail in her grief.

"How did, uh, how are they saying it happened?" Sam was careful to stay gentle with the stunned woman.

"I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside his car with the engine running," She told us even though we'd already knew that.

"Do you know about what time they found him?" I glanced at Sam sharply at his question to find him already looking at me.

"It just happened half an hour ago," She informed us, and Sam frowned as he looked at me. She sighed before going on, "His poor family," I glanced at them as a young man walked through the door, and immediately a weird sort of feeling bloomed in my stomach. "I can't even imagine what they're going through," My hearing sharpened just in time to hear the woman's sobs as she leaned on a man's shoulder. My eyes kept getting drawn to the younger kid that had come through the door that was now leaning on the wall near the two adults sullenly staring at them. I glanced to my left to see Sam turn away from the house with an expression of anger and frustration. I followed him back to the Impala where he leaned on the driver's door with his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Don't," I leaned next to him on the side of the hood, and his eyes flicked to me before returning to the house. "Don't blame yourself,"

"She's right, Sam. We got here as fast as we could," Dean agreed, leaning next to me.

"Not fast enough," Sam spoke morosely before turning his gaze fully on us. "This doesn't make any sense, guys. Why would I even have these premonitions unless there was a chance I could stop them from happening?"

"You can stop them from happening," Both boys looked at me when I said that, and I nodded towards the house. "Whatever killed him probably isn't finished, which means there'll be more killings,"

"What do you think killed him?" Sam questioned after he considered what I had told him.

"Maybe the guy just killed himself," Dean suggested, shrugging. "Maybe there's nothing supernatural going on at all," Sam and I were shaking our heads before Dean finished talking.

"I'm telling you, I watched it happen. Mel heard it," He glanced at me for support, and I looked at Dean.

"He was definitely murdered. He was panicked. It trapped him in his car," I remembered how terrified I had been and suppressed a shiver.

"A spirit, a poltergeist, what?" Dean questioned, running through some options.

"We don't know what it was. I don't know why I'm having these dreams, or why Mel's having the… flashes." He hesitantly used the word I'd used earlier when I'd explained what had happened. "We don't know what the hell is happening, Dean," Sam spoke vehemently for both of us, and I looked up at Dean to find him studying the both of us.

"What?" I could usually read Dean, but his face was tight, almost wary. I didn't like the expression.

"Nothing. I'm just worried about the two of you," He told us, and I frowned as the expression didn't leave his face.

"Well, don't look at us like that," Sam spoke heatedly while I turned my eyes to the crime scene again.

"I'm not looking at you like anything," Dean protested, looking away from us before glancing back. "Though I got to say, you look like crap," I hit him lightly on the shoulder, and he grinned. "I was talking about Sammy," He covered, his grin dying as he turned to his brother.

"Nice. Thanks," Sam answered, not in the joking mood.

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged, not sorry about the comment at all. "Come on. Let's just pick this up in the morning, alright? We'll check out the house. We''ll talk to the family," My eyes moved to the woman that I could still hear crying into the man's shoulder, and then I looked to the boy, who was still looking sullen.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," I began hesitantly. "Look at them. They're devastated. They won't talk to us,"

"Yeah, you're right," Dean agreed, opening the driver's door before looking back at the house. "But I think I know who they will talk to,"

"Who?" Dean just smirked.


"This has got to be a whole new low for us," Sam told us with a heavy sigh before ringing the doorbell. The door opened to reveal a man wearing a plaid shirt and baggy jeans. His eyes hardened as he took in our attire. "Good afternoon. I'm Father Simmons. This is Father Freely and Sister Morgan," It took every ounce of restraint I had not to smack my forehead with the palm of my hand. "We're new junior priests over at St. Augustine's, and Sister Morgan is with the abbey," Dean made up as he went along. "May we come in?" The man nodded, and I offered him a smile. "Thanks,"

"We're very sorry for your loss," Sam added as he followed Dean and I into the house. The man shut the door behind us, and we turned back to face him.

"In tragic times like these, it's important to look to the Lord for guidance," I preached to him.

"Look," He interrupted me. "You want to pitch your whole 'Lord has a plan' thing, fine. Don't pitch it to me. My brother's dead,"

"Roger, please" I glanced back to see the woman who'd been crying standing there looking admonishingly at her brother-in-law.

"Excuse me," He didn't wait for us to say anything else before walking into the living room where other people were mingling. The woman who was holding a casserole walked up to us.

"I'm sorry about my brother-in-law. He's just so upset about Jim's death," She shook her head sorrowfully before blinking up at us. "Would you like some coffee?"

"That'd be wonderful. Thank you," I answered for the three of us. We hadn't slept since our three hours the night before. She disappeared into the kitchen, and we made our way to the couch in the living room. She came hurrying back and set three mugs on the table before going back to get the coffee pot and beginning to pour it.

"It was wonderful of you to stop by. The support of the church means so much right now," She handed Dean his coffee before giving Sam and me ours. I took a sip.

"Of course," Dean responded easily. "After all, we are all God's children," I almost spit out my coffee. She gave us a small smile before going back to the other guests. As soon as she was gone, Dean snatched one of the small hot dogs off the plate and ate it in one bite. I couldn't help snickering at his earlier statement. Sam scoffed, and Dean and I both looked at him.

"What?" Dean questioned.

"Just tone it down a little bit… father," The woman came back and sat next to me on the couch.

"So, Mrs. Miller, was Jim depressed before… you know," I asked her, getting to the important part of our visit.

"No, nothing like that," She shook her head quickly, gazing at nothing as if remembering. "We had our ups and downs like everyone, but we were happy," She let out a small sob. "I just don't understand how Jim could do something like…" She trailed off as her voice cracked.

"I'm so sorry you had to find him like that," Sam's words held an underlying question. She sniffled, and shook her head as if trying to shake off her grief.

"Actually our son, Max…" She gestured to the other room where I saw the boy from earlier sitting in a chair looking out the window. "He was the one who found him,"

"Would you mind if I went and talked to him?" I asked her, that same, strange feeling coming over me.

"Oh," She sounded surprised and grateful at the same time. "Oh, thank you, Sister," I smiled reassuringly at her before rising from my place in-between her and Dean and making my way over to the boy.

"Max?" I phrased it like a question even though I knew it was him. He glanced up at me as I took a chair and set it down across from him before taking a seat. "I'm Melody," I don't know what made me use my real name, but it was out of my mouth before I could think. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss,"

"No, you're not," I was surprised at his boldness. "You're just saying that to try to make me feel better,"

"Well, is it working?" I smiled slightly, and he looked at me in surprise.

"No, not really," I muttered glumly.

"So, your dad…were you close?" He shrugged, and I saw his jaw tighten in anger and his expression grew dark.

"Yeah. I mean, he was just a normal dad," I could hear the lie in his voice as he spoke.

"That bad, huh?" I smiled slightly at his startled expression.

"How did you know…?" He trailed off, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"I'm good at reading people," I played off, smiling slightly again at the man. "So, you live here," I asked, glancing around the room before returning my eyes to Max.

"Yeah," He answered, glancing away and then back. "I'm trying to save up for school, but it's hard," I nodded in understanding.

"So, you found your dad," I prompted and saw the question in his eyes. "Your mom told me,"

"Of course she did," He muttered bitterly before adding. "Stepmom,"

"Stepmom," I corrected, and his eyes flicked away and then back.

"I woke up. I heard the engine running," His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally found the words. "I don't know why he did it,"

"It can be tough," I told him understandingly. "Loosing a parent. Especially when you don't have all the answers,"

"Really? When did your parents die?" He asked bitterly.

"My mom died when I was young. I don't remember it really… or her. My dad…" I swallowed hard, talking about him was still painful. "He died when I was eighteen. I remember that perfectly,"

"I'm sorry," Max told me earnestly, and a smile ghosted over my lips.

"No you're not," I told him. "You're just saying that to make me feel better," He smiled slightly, which was a nice change in comparison to his tight, hate-filled expression that he usually wore. I glanced sideways to see the couch was empty. "Do you have a bathroom that I could use?" I asked Max, and he nodded, pointing to the stairs. "First door on your left," I rose and started towards the stairs. Suddenly, Max caught my forearm in a tight grip that was almost painful.

"You're the one that's supposed to live," I looked into his intense blue eyes, and I felt myself wanting to back away from him but his iron grip kept me in place.

"What?" My voice was shaky. He blinked. His eyes lost their intensity, and he released my arm, blinking again confusedly. He glanced at me and seemed surprised to see me still standing there.

"Aren't you going to the bathroom?" He asked, and I opened and closed my mouth for a few seconds before I regained myself.

"Yeah," I backed away from him slowly before turning and heading up the stairs. I turned the corner to see Dean and Sam standing there. They relaxed when they saw it was just me. "Find anything?"

"Zip," Dean answered, annoyed. After that, we headed back to the motel to do some research. Five hours later, Dean had given up and was cleaning the guns while he sat on our bed, and I was with Sam trying to figure out what the hell could have caused Jim's death.

"So, what do you have?" Dean questioned us.

"A lot of nothing," Sam answered dejectedly as he pinned another picture on the wall near the map. "Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built,"

"What about the land?" Dean continued brusquely.

"There's been no graveyards, battlefields, tribal lands, or any other kind of ghost-provoking horror on or anywhere near the property," I informed him as Sam sat heavily on the bed. I leaned on the wall, resting the side of my head on the map as I regarded Dean, who was still cleaning the guns.

"Hey, I told you both. I searched that house up and down. There were no cold spots, no sulfur scents, nada,"

"And you're sure the wife said nothing weird was happening?" I checked even though I already knew the answer.

"Well, if there was a demon or a poltergeist in there somebody would've noticed something. I used the infrared thermal scanner. There was nothing," Dean told me again.

"So, what, you think Jim Miller killed himself and my dream and Mel's flash was some sort of freakish coincidence?" Sam asked, trying to make Dean see how ridiculous that sounded.

"I don't know," He answered honestly, loading another gun. "I'm pretty sure that there's nothing supernatural about that house,"

"No," I echoed distractedly, my mind going back to the guy. How tired he looked. The fury in his eyes. "But what about the people in the house?" My eyes snapped to Sam as I heard him groan. "Are you alright?" I asked in concern, pushing off the wall and moving to sit next to Sam on the bed.

"Yeah… gosh," He massaged his temples. "You're right. Maybe it's connected to Jim in some other way," He got out, and I could practically feel the pain coming off of him in waves.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked gruffly, but I could hear the concern in his voice. Sam hissed in pain and bent over, clutching his head.

"Sam?" He slid off the bed and to the floor, and I knelt next to him, never having felt so helpless in my life. "Dean!" Dean was already beside me as I called his name. I grabbed Sam's shoulders, keeping him up and trying to snap him out of it. Was this how Dean felt when I had my flashes? Sam grabbed my shoulder, and suddenly his eyes grew unfocused and his grip tightened. Then, all at once, he began breathing hard, and his eyes snapped to mine and then Dean's.

"It's happening again. Something's gonna kill Roger Miller," Dean straightened and went to the guns, packing them in his duffel before snatching the keys out of his pocket. Sam and I followed him out the door and into the car.

"Roget Miller," I talked into the phone hurriedly.

"Would you like the phone number?" The man asked boredly.

"No, I just need the address," I told him, glancing at Dean, who was looking at me with an odd expression.

"450 West Grove, apartment 1120," The man informed me after a moment's pause. I thanked him before hanging up and relaying the information to Dean.

"You okay?" Dean questioned Sam, glancing in the rearview at his brother. I knew that this was hard on him, and I knew he was worried about both of us. "If you're gonna hurl, I'll pull the car over. You know cause the upholstery - I don't wanna-" Dean began, and I cracked a small smile.

"I'm fine. Just drive," I glanced at the speedometer, and for once didn't comment on how Dean was going 30 miles over the speed limit. Sam sighed shakily. "I'm scared, guys. 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. Is that how it was for you?" Sam was looking right at me as he asked the question, and I could see the desperation in his eyes for me to reassure him.

"No," I answered quietly after a long moment of silence. "For me the farther I am from what I'm hearing, the more it hurts," I added, keeping my eyes trained on the dark road in front of us. Only Dean and John knew that. I'd never told anyone else. A deafening silence followed my words as Sam took in the new information.

"Come on, man," Dean broke the silence. "It will be alright,"

"Dean's right, you're going to be fine," I reassured him as best I could.

"What is it about the Millers? Why are we connected to them? Why are we watching them die?" He demanded answers that we didn't have. "Why the hell is this happening to us?"

"I don't know, Sam, but we'll figure it out, okay?" Dean told him without looking. "We face the unexplainable every single day. This is just another thing,"

"No. It's never been us. It's never been in the family like this. Tell me the truth. You can't tell me this doesn't freak you either of you out," His eyes flicked back and forth between Dean and I, and I glanced at Dean out of the corner of my eye. I felt Dean's hand in mine, and I laced my fingers through his without looking down.

"This doesn't freak me out," Dean lied, glancing in the rearview at his kid brother. Sam's eyes moved to me, and I met them in the rearview.

"Doesn't freak me out," I repeated Dean's words, and I turned my gaze out the window. "Hey, there he is," I pointed out the window at the man that was walking alone with a bag of groceries. Dean pulled over to the side of the road to cruise alongside him.

"Hey!" Sam called out the window. "Hey, Roger!"

"Hey, hold up a second," Roger rolled his eyes at Dean's words and turned to face us.

"What are you three, missionaries? Leave me alone," He complained before continuing to walk.

"Please, stop!" I called as Dean parked hastily, and I was out of the car before he even stopped. "Roger!" I jogged after Sam across the street.

"We're trying to help!" Sam insisted as Roger opened the door to the apartment building with one hand. "Please! Hey, hey!" He protested as Roger shut the door hurriedly and held up a hand in a mocking wave.

"I don't want your help," He walked away, and I banged on the glass, trying to get his attention.

"Roger you have to listen to us!" I practically begged him as he walked out of sight.

"We're not priests!" Sam shouted after him. "Please, listen!"

"You're in danger," Dean tried but to no avail. I turned around, thinking for a moment before Dean grabbed my hand and started running. "Come on. Come on," We went around the back only to be stopped by an gate. Dean grabbed the bars in both hands and shook them. They were a bit loose.

"No one's coming," I told him as Sam joined us. He glanced both ways before giving the door a hard kick. It swung open without protest. I followed Sam as he ran through and stopped at the dumpster. He climbed it easily, using his height to his advantage. I utilized the gate next to it to climb and then jump across. Sam grabbed my arm and steadied me before running across the dumpster to the fire escape stairs. I followed him, hearing Dean close behind me. I heard the squeak of the window opening, and I ran faster. I felt his confusion and his annoyance as he closed it.

"It's happening," I urged my feet to move faster up the stairs. I heard the squeak as the window opened again. "Sam, run faster!" I yelled as I heard him jiggling the window.

"I'm trying!" He yelled back, taking the steps two at a time. I felt a shiver of shock and horror run through my body, and my legs stopped working as there was a loud bang and a sickening thud. The window had slammed shut. I shoved my way past Sam and ran up the remaining steps to his floor with Dean following. I swallowed hard as I saw the red, sticky blood splattered all the way up the window, and, against my will, my eyes moved to the potted plants a floor down. Roger's glazed eyes stared back at me. I took a step back from the scene, swallowing the bile that rose in my throat.

"Here. Start wiping down your fingerprints," Dean ordered. "We don't want the cops to know we were here," He handed me a cloth, and I swallowed again, taking it with shaking fingers.

"I'm going to look inside," I pushed the words out through numb lips.

"I'll go with you," I opened the window, using the cloth so I didn't leave fingerprints. I dropped down to the floor, and Dean came in behind me. "Hey," He grabbed my arm and turned me to face him. "You okay?"

"Yeah," I offered him a weak smile. "I'm fine," Dean went to check the bedroom after a moment of debate. I suddenly thought of an idea and stretched my hearing to encompass the whole apartment. No one. Below us I heard the door to the apartment building open and close. Someone was talking to the manager downstairs. The couple below us to the right were fighting. No one was in this apartment. More than that, nothing was in this apartment. I glanced to my right and saw Dean standing in the doorway. "Nothing's here," I told him, and he nodded confirmation before we headed back to the window. Sam followed Dean and I back down the stairs and out of the alley.

"Look, Sam, trust me, there was nothing in the apartment," I tried to convince him as he protested.

"Yeah, there's no signs, either. Just like the Miller house," Dean added, glancing around warily.

"I saw something in the vision, like a dark shape," Sam explained as a car beeped loudly. "Something was stalking Roger,"

"Well, whatever it was, we can be sure it's not connected to their house," Dean mused as we crossed the street to the Impala.

"Yeah, it has to be connected to the family somehow," I agreed, my brain already going through a list of things it could be. "Maybe a vengeful spirit of some sort?" I suggested. Anything in the supernatural world, if made angry enough, could begin stalking and killing members of a family.

"A few have been known to latch on to families, follow them for years" Dean backed me up, but I wasn't sure that is what it was. I got into the passenger's seat, and Sam slid into the back without protest. "Maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy, something curse-worthy,"

"And now something's out for revenge, and the men in their family are dying," Sam warmed up to the idea, but to me, it still didn't feel right. Something seemed off about this whole thing. Sam's visions. My flashes. My mind went back to Max staring out that window while the neighborhood gathered in his living room to give their condolences.

"Do you think Max could be in danger?" I don't know why I liked the kid, but for some reason, I did. Dean glanced at me, considering the idea for a moment as he fished the keys out of his jeans.

"Let's figure it out before he is," He answered, and I smiled slightly at his confident tone.

"Well, I know one thing we have in common with these people," Sam chuckled humorlessly, making me look at him in concern.

"What's that?" Dean questioned as Sam looked out the window.

"Both our families are cursed," Sam muttered morosely.

"Our families not cursed," Dean protested, searching for someway to convince Sam that they weren't cursed.

"There've just… been some dark spots," I felt the need to defend our family. Sam's eyes moved to me, and he laughed again.

"Our dark spots are pretty dark," He pointed out, causing both Dean and I to frown at him.

"You're dark," Dean's comeback made me smile and bite back a laugh as he started the engine. When we got back to the motel, Sam decided to take a shower after I changed and brushed my teeth, which left Dean and I to do research on whatever it was that was angry with that family. I'd scanned one book on the history of the town, which didn't help much for the town history was about as interesting as studying a rock. My eyes flicked up to Dean, who was sitting in one of the chairs, glaring at the computer as if it had just killed his dog. I got up from the bed and pulled the other chair around the table to sit beside him. He blinked out of whatever he'd been thinking about and began scrolling through the article again.

"Anything?" I prompted, and he glanced at me.

"No, not much. Some stuff about families in the sixties getting killed a couple towns over," He filled me in, glancing at me with troubled eyes.

"You know Sam was just frustrated," I told him, and his eyes flicked away again.

"What if he's right?" He didn't look at me as he spoke. "I mean, we're not exactly the perfect family,"

"That doesn't make us cursed," I pointed out, and Dean looked unconvinced. "Look, we're hunters, bad things happen. That doesn't make our family cursed,"

"Yeah, you're right," Dean agreed finally, and I smiled as the frown left his features. "You might want to hang that up, Sister," I followed his gaze to the nun's outfit, and I small groan left my lips, making Dean chuckle.

"Why couldn't we just go with the concerned neighbors like I wanted?" I had offered a perfectly good plan, but instead, Dean and Sam had opted for the priests and nun route.

"Sam and I just wanted to see you dressed as a nun," I mock glared at him, and he laughed. "And none of us can bake a casserole," He added.

"I can bake a casserole," I told him, deciding to ignore his comment about getting me to dress like a nun.

"You've never even tried to bake a casserole," Dean pointed out. "And you burnt pasta,"

"That was your fault," I laughed, remembering the pasta I'd tried to cook back in high school when I used to cook for him and Sam while John was hunting. "You distracted me," The door to the bathroom opened, and Sam came out in a grey shirt and jeans.

"Find anything?" He questioned, and just like that my good mood vanished.

"No, not much," I answered for both of us, and Sam sighed.

"You two should get some sleep. I'll keep researching," Sam told us as he dried his hair with a bleach white towel.

"We're fine, Sam," Dean tried to deny, and Sam gave us a look.

"No you're not. You two look like your about to pass out. For the past two days you've been running on nothing but coffee and adrenaline. You need sleep," Well, he wasn't wrong. "I'll wake you if I find anything," Finally, I sighed in defeat and stood.

"Fine, but you have to sleep eventually too," I spoke as I took in his tired appearance. "You being exhausted won't help anyone," I pulled back the covers and crawled into the bed, which felt heavenly. It wasn't until then that I realized how tired I really was.

"Yeah, I'll go to sleep later," He promised, and I knew he was lying. I just hoped he was tired enough to fall asleep against his will. Dean slid in next to me, pulling the covers around us, and I rested my head on his arm as threw his other arm lazily across his waist. My eyes slid shut, and I drifted off to sleep.


"My mom's resting. She's pretty wrecked," Max explained apologetically as he led us through his house to the living room.

"Of course," Dean agreed understandingly.

"All these people kept coming by with, like, casseroles," Max told us, seeming oddly nervous about something. "I finally had to tell them all to go away," I glanced to where there was around twenty glass dishes covered with tin foil lying on the counter in the kitchen. "You know, cause nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a tuna casserole," My mouth twitched up in a smile at his words, and I let out a quiet laugh. He smiled slightly before gesturing to the couch invitingly. I sat in-between Dean and Sam as Max sat on an armchair.

"So, how are you doing?" I asked him, knowing he must be going through hell right now.

"I'm okay," He shifted uncomfortably in the armchair that seemed suddenly to big for him. I frowned at the twisting feeling I got in the pit of my stomach. Usually, I could tell what the feelings were right away. I would see something and suddenly be afraid or angry or wary. With Max, I couldn't tell what the feelings meant. They were all jumbled together. There was a strong sense of protectiveness, like it was important that I kept him safe. That feeling was intertwined with fear, but whether it was fear of him or fear for him I couldn't tell. Maybe both.

"Your dad and uncle were - were close?" Sam asked him, and he glanced between the three of us unsurely.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, they were brothers," He laughed nervously as he answered. "They used to hang out all the time when I was little," His mouth twitched, and his jaw tightened as he leaned forward, nervousness gone. I frowned at the subtle change from the nervous kid to the bitter man.

"But they haven't been hanging out lately?" I prompted, and his eyes turned on me, shocking me with the hatred, fury, and fear in them.

"No, it's not that. It's just, we used to be neighbors when I was a kid. We lived across town in this house on seventh street, and Uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time," The fury grew along with the bitterness and the hatred as he talked to us.

"How was it? Did you like living there?" I questioned him, curious as to what made him so angry, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut that told me all I needed to know.

"Fine. Why?" He turned the question on us, his eyes dancing between the three of us.

"All good memories?" Dean checked. "You remember anything… unusual? Something involving your father and your uncle maybe?" Max's lips tightened into a firm line as he shook his head before smiling nervously.

"Why do you - why do you ask?" He stammered, and Dean shrugged.

"Just a question," Dean covered easily. Max drew a big, shaky breath before answering.

"No, there was nothing. We were totally normal… Happy," He looked towards the window and then back at us. He was lying. I could hear it in his voice.

"Good. That's good," Dean smiled at him. "You must be exhausted. We should take off,"

"Right," Sam agreed, glancing back at Max. "Thanks,"

"Yeah," Max forced a smile.

"Take care of yourself," I offered him a reassuring smile as I stood and headed towards the door after Sam and Dean. Max didn't follow. We walked down the street towards the Impala.

"Nobody's family is totally normal and happy," Dean mentioned as we walked.

"Yeah, I agree. Something's not right about his childhood. Remember when he was talking about the house?" I asked them, and Dean nodded.

"He sounded scared," Sam answered.

"It's more than that, though. He was angry," I remembered Max's eyes when he was talking about his childhood home.

"He isn't telling us everything," Dean agreed, taking out the white neck strip from his outfit. "I say we go find the old neighborhood. Find out what life was really like for the Miller's," I got into the backseat, throwing my legs over the three seats and leaning comfortably on the door of the Impala. We stopped at the motel to change quickly and do a quick search before getting back in the car and finding the old Miller's house. It took us about half an hour to find the house, and after that we went door to door asking if anybody remembered them. When we came to the third house in the row, the man was already outside sweeping the stone steps leading to his house.

"Have you lived in the neighborhood very long?" Sam questioned the man.

"Yeah, almost twenty years now. It's nice and quiet," He smiled as he spoke kindly about his neighborhood. "Why, you looking to buy?"

"No, no, actually we were just wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street, I believe," Sam pointed across the street at the house.

"Yeah, the Miller's. They had a young boy, Max," The man looked down at his broom with an expression of sadness and pity before looking back up at us.

"Yeah, I remember them. The brother had the place next door," The man pointed to the faded yellow house beside the dirty white one. "So, what's this about? That poor kid okay?" My eyes snapped to the man's face as he said those words.

"Poor kid? Why would you call him that?" I asked, and the man's face grew sad again.

"Well, in my life, I've never seen a child treated like that. I mean, I'd hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street. He was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar out of Max - bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of," My jaw clenched in anger as the man explained what had happened.

"And this was going on regularly?" Sam questioned him.

"Practically every day," I glanced back across the street and then back at the man as he began speaking again. "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've called the police seven or eight times. Never did any good,"

"Now, you said stepmother," Dean prompted him even though I'd already told him and Sam that the woman wasn't his real mother.

"Yeah, I think his real mom died in some sort of accident - car accident, I think. It-" He broke off and I followed his gaze to where Sam was now clutching his head. "Are you okay there?"

"Yeah," Sam looked up at him, trying to play it off as nothing, but his eyes kept screwing shut in pain.

"He gets migraines sometimes," I explained weakly, turning Sam towards the car and taking his arm.

"Thanks for your time," Dean ended our conversation politely as I led Sam gently towards the car while he pressed his hand against his temple. Dean joined me and opened the door for him just as we reached the Impala. Before he could get in, Sam stiffened and looked around in confusion before going completely still, his eyes unfocused. Then, he was gasping and grabbing my shoulder in one hand and Dean's in the other.

"Max. It's Max. We have to get back to their house," Without another word, we got into the car and drove off back towards Max's house. "Max is doing it. Everything I've been seeing,"

"What do you mean? Are you sure?" I questioned, even though I knew he was. Something in my gut told me he was right no matter how much I wanted him not to be.

"Yeah, I saw him," Sam answered.

"How's he pulling it off?" Dean asked the question I'd been seconds away from asking.

"I don't know. It looked like telekinesis," I frowned. Telekinesis? Something about all of this just didn't make sense. It was like we were doing a puzzle but missing a piece.

"So he's a psychic? He's a spoon bender?" Dean asked, and my mouth twitched shortly.

"I didn't even realize it, but this whole time, he was there," Sam recalled, and I thought back to the deaths.

"He was outside of his dad's garage when Jim was killed," I realized, and Sam nodded confirmation.

"And he was in the apartment when his Uncle died," Sam added, and suddenly another realization hit me like a slap in the face.

"Your visions, my flashes… we weren't connecting to the Millers. We were connecting to Max," My eyes were wide at the epiphany.

"The thing I don't get is why, though," Sam continued for me. "I guess it's because the three of us are so alike?" I winced at his choice of words.

"What are you talking about? Dude's nothing like the two of you," Dean denied immediately, glancing at me and then Sam.

"All three of us do have psychic abilities," I admitted reluctantly.

"Yeah, and we all-" Sam started only to be interrupted by Dean.

"All what?" Neither of us answered Dean's demand. "Max is a monster. He's already killed two people. Now he's gunning for a third,"

"He's not a monster, Dean," I protested on Max's behalf. "I mean, look what he had to go through as a child. The beatings. Any sane person would want revenge on the people that did that to them,"

"She's right. It's not that insane," Sam backed me up, and I shot him a grateful glance.

"Yeah, but it doesn't justify murdering your entire family," Dean pointed out heatedly, and I opened my mouth only to have Dean continue. "He's no different than anything else we've hunted. All right? We've got to end him," My eyes widened fractionally in surprise.

"End him?" I echoed angrily. "We can't kill Max. He's a human being,"

"Then what? Hand him over to the cops and say, 'Lock him up, officer. He kills with the power of his mind,'" Dean mocked as he parked in front of the Miller's house.

"Forget it. Mel's right. No way, man," Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Guys-" He began.

"Dean, he is a person… which means we can just talk to him. Try to convince him to stop," I saw Dean's disbelief and grew more concerned. "Hey, promise me you won't kill him," Dean's eyes bore into mine, and they finally relaxed from there stubborn tightness.

"All right, fine. But I'm not letting him hurt you or anybody else," Dean snapped open a compartment next to the cassette player and drew out the gun. A bad feeling twisted my stomach at the sight of the gun, but Dean was already out of the car and walking towards the house.

"You know I never did anything," I hurried after Dean as I heard the mother say those words.

"That's right," Max agreed in a furious, bitter voice. "You didn't do anything," We were at the door now.

"It's happening," I whispered as Dean tried the door only to find it locked.

"You didn't stop them. Not once," Dean slammed his shoulder into the door, breaking the lock and making the door swing open with a crash.

"Fathers?" She asked confusedly and then her gaze flew to me. "Sister?" I offered her a weak smile before my eyes landed on Max to find him already looking at me.

"What are you doing here?" He asked almost accusingly.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," Dean started.

"Max, could we have a word?" My eyes pleaded him to say yes. "It'll only take a second,"

"About what?" His voice held distrust, and I didn't blame him. We did just break down his door.

"It's… it's private," Sam glanced at his mother as he spoke. "We wouldn't want to bother your mother with it,"

"It won't be long, though. Just a quick talk, I swear," Max glanced at his mother and then at us, still unsure for a moment.

"Okay," He finally agreed.

"Great," Sam turned to head towards the door, and I let out a breath of relief that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. I walked alongside Max towards the door while Dean turned the knob to open it. Suddenly, the door slammed shut harshly, and one by one the windows followed with the blinds going down.

"They're not priests," He backed away.

"Max, calm down. We can explain," I tried to reason with him, but Dean pulled out his gun. "Dean, no!" The gun was jerked out of his hand by an unseen force, and Max picked it up off the floor. I turned to face Max, standing in the middle of him and the brothers.

"Max, what's happening?" His stepmother cried, and Max's face twisted in anger as he shakily pointed the gun at me.

"Shut up!" He yelled at the woman.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, and he closed his eyes for a moment. She flew back and bashed her head on the corner of the counter; she crumpled to the floor and didn't rise again.

"I said shut up!" He yelled, the hand that wasn't holding the gun going to his head as he used his ability. Dean stepped up next to me slowly, and the gun moved to Dean, making me put a restraining hand on his arm. "Don't move!"

"You need to calm down, alright? Look, you're the one with the gun," I tried to use logic, but it didn't work.

"Who are you?" He yelled, the gun still trembling in his grip. I doubt he'd ever used one before.

"We just wanted to talk to you," Sam tried, but Max didn't listen.

"Yeah, right! That's why you brought this!" He shook the gun and glared at us.

"That was just a mistake, okay? You have to listen to us. We want to help you, Max. No more lying, I promise. You just have to listen to us," I looked right into his terrified diamond blue eyes and willed him to believe me.

"About what?" He sounded slightly calmer. I glanced at Sam and nodded for him to take over.

"I saw you do it," Sam told him, and he frowned in confusion. "I saw you kill your dad and your uncle before it happened,"

"What?" He asked in incredulous disbelief.

"I'm having visions, Max, about you," He spoke calmly to Max, who frowned at the three of us.

"You're crazy," He told Sam.

"So you weren't gonna launch a knife at your stepmom right here?" He pointed to his right eye.

"Max, it can't be that hard to believe. I mean, look at what you can do," I pointed out, gesturing to the gun.

"We were drawn here alright," Sam told him.

"We?" He asked, and I took a deep breath.

"Yes, Sam and me," His eyes moved to me, and he frowned again.

"What can you do?" I glanced at Dean and then Sam before my eyes flicked back to Max.

"I can hear things. Far away things that normal people can't hear," I decided not to tell him about my 'feelings', for he was already looking at me like I was insane.

"Like what?" I thought back to when we first pulled up.

"Before we came in, your stepmom said 'you know I never did anything.' Then you said 'that's right. You didn't do anything,'" Max had gone paler as I talked. "Max, I think we're here to help you. Just let us help you," He let out a small sob, looking towards his limp stepmom and then back at us.

"No one can help me," He told us, the gun shaking more than ever.

"At least let us try," My voice was calm as I spoke to him.

"We'll just talk, just you and us," Sam continued. "We'll get Dean and Alice out of here," I felt Dean stiffen beside me as he said that.

"No, no way," Dean immediately objected. The chandelier above us began to shake.

"Nobody leaves this house!" Max snapped at us.

"And nobody will, okay?" I told him what he wanted to hear.

"They'll just go upstairs," I glanced at Sam, frowning a bit.

"I'm not leaving you two alone with him," Dean stated firmly.

"You have to," My eyes didn't leave Max's as I spoke to Dean.

"Look, Max, you're in charge here, all right? No one's going to do anything that you don't want to do, but we're talking five minutes here, man," Sam reasoned with him, and he glanced at his stepmom and back.

"Sam," Dean warned, but he was interrupted by Max.

"Five minutes," Max agreed finally, and I let out a small sigh of relief as the chandelier stopped shaking. "Go," He ordered Dean.

"I'm not leaving," Max's gun was aimed directly at Dean.

"Go," I tore my gaze from Max and focused on Dean.

"Go with him," Sam suggested.

"She stays," Max demanded, moving the gun to Sam before moving back to Dean.

"I'm staying," I agreed, meeting Dean's eyes. "Go, I'll be fine," Dean hesitated a moment more, looking distrustingly at Max before finally walking towards his stepmom. Dean helped her off the floor, and I heard them go up the stairs. "Let's move to the couch, alright?" I tried to ignore how I felt so much less safe now that Dean had left.

"Okay," Max thankfully agreed, and we moved slowly to the couch where I sat with Sam while Max sat on an armchair. The knife on the table levitated up to balance on it's point while Max glared at it.

"Look, we can't begin to understand what you went through," Sam began.

"That's right, you can't," Max didn't look at Sam as he spit the words.

"Max," I tried, "You have to stop killing people,"

"I will… after my stepmother," He kept glaring at the knife, and my heart sunk a bit.

"No, you have to let her live," His face twisted into fury and disgust.

"Why?" I opened my mouth to answer, but Sam beat me to it.

"Did she beat you?" Sam questioned gently.

"No, but she never tried to save me. She's a part of it, too," He insisted as he made the knife spin in a circle.

"Look, what they did to you, what they all did to you, growing up. They deserve to be punished, but-" Sam started.

"Growing up?" Max's eyes finally left the knife to snap to us. "Try last week," The knife spun faster and faster as he grew angrier and angrier. Slowly, not breaking eye contact with us, he stood and lifted up the side of his shirt. My eyes widened fractionally as I took in the black and blue that was painted all down the side of his ribcage and stomach along with a few cuts. "My dad still hit me, just in places people wouldn't see it. Old habits die hard, I guess,"

"That's horrible," I whispered at the same time Sam said, "I'm sorry,"

"When I first found out I could move things, it was a gift. My whole life, I was helpless, but now I had this," He told us. "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 run away?" I asked him softly, and I flinched as the knife clattered to the table.

"It wasn't about getting away. Just knowing that they'd still be out there… it was about not being afraid. When my dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?"

"No," Sam whispered as I shook my head.

"He blamed me for everything," Max went on. "For his job, for his life, for my mom's death," I frowned as he said that last one.

"Why would he blame you for that? Didn't your mom die in a car accident?" I questioned, a strong feeling was building inside of me. The missing piece of the puzzle. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Car accident? She died in my nursery while I was asleep in my crib, as if that makes it my fault," I froze, my eyes wide and staring at him, the story sounding all too familiar.

"How did she die?" I whispered the question hoarsely.

"There was a fire, 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," My entire world froze around me.

"Listen to me, Max. What your dad said about what happened to your mom… it's real," Max took a shaky breath, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"What?" Was all he could get out.

"It happened to our moms too. The same thing - our nursery, our cribs, the fire, our dads seeing them…" I explained, and Max's eyes grew more and more incredulous.

"Your dads must have been as drunk as mine," He told us, and I shook my head.

"No. No, it's the same thing, Max. The same thing killed our mothers," Sam's words grew faster as he grew more excited at this new piece of information.

"That's impossible," Max protested weakly.

"This must have been why I've been having visions during the day, why they're getting more intense. And your flashes. Because the three of us must be connected in some way,"

"Did they start six to seven months ago? No warning?" I questioned him, half of me hoping he'd say no and the other half knowing he'd say yes.

"How'd you know that?" He asked, his voice shaking.

"Because that's when mine started," Sam's voice still held the undertone of excitement. "I mean, yours seem to be much further along, but, still, this means something, right? I mean, for some reason the three of us… we were chosen,"

"For what?" Max asked the question that was on my mind too.

"We don't know," I answered for Sam, not liking the tone of his voice.

"But, Dean, Mel, and I, we're hunting for your mom's killer, and we can find answers, answers that will help us both. But you gotta let us go, Max. You got to let your stepmother go," He seemed unsure for a moment, and then his face closed and my heart sunk.

"No," He shook his head angrily. "What they did to me - I still have nightmares. I'm still scared all the time, like I'm just waiting for that next beating. I'm just tired of being scared," He stood and began stalking towards the kitchen. I hurried after him and stood in front of him.

"No, it won't, Max. You can't make the nightmares go away by doing this," Sam came up beside me. "You'll just cause more pain. If you do this, you're no better than them," He shook his head slowly, but I could see my words having an effect on him.

"Max, you don't have to go through all this by yourself," He sniffled and shook his head before looking right at me.

"I'm sorry," Behind me, the closet doors banged open, and Sam was yanked backwards into it.

"Sam!" I took a step towards the closet only to have the doors slam shut. I spun around to face Max, and there was a rumble as he moved a huge piece of furniture in front of the doors. The only reassurance I had was Sam's cries from inside the closet. "Max, don't do this. Please, we can help you,"

"No one can help me," The next thing I knew I was flying through the air, and, on instinct I covered my head before I slammed into something solid. I remained limp on the ground, and I heard Max's footsteps walking away and then going up the stairs.

-3rd Person-

Mel picked herself up off the floor and leaned against the wall, looking pale. Her wrist was bleeding, though she didn't notice, and there was a black and blue mark spreading down her arm. She forced herself to straighten and headed towards the stairs, each step growing faster and more purposeful. As she reached the top, there was a loud thud and then a groan. Dean's groan. She sped up, reaching the door to the room and going inside. As soon as she entered, Max spun and pointed the gun at her. The door slammed shut behind her.

"You shouldn't have come," Dean picked himself off the floor and swore softly as Max talked. Mel's eyes were focused on Dean, who seemed to be alright for the most part. Dean began walking towards Max, and Max whirled and aimed the gun at him. Slowly, his fingers loosened, and he let go of the handgun, leaving it to float midair. Dean froze. Mel took a slow step towards the terrified woman. The gun turned to face Max's stepmom so the barrel was level with her chest.

"No," The woman begged her stepson. "Max," Mel abandoned caution and walked quickly in front of his stepmom. Dean took a step towards Mel, and the gun cocked, making him freeze.

"Stay back," Max warned Mel and Dean. "This isn't about either of you," Mel took a shaky breath and met Max's eyes determinedly.

"Mel," Dean began warningly. His eyes evaluated the situation, trying to find a way to get the gun away from Max's control. There was no doubt left in Dean's mind that this man was a monster and should be killed.

"It's alright. He won't kill me. Come on, Max. You're better than this. Put down the gun," Mel tried to reason with him, but he was too far gone to listen to anything she had to say.

"Get out of the way," He was practically begging her now, but she held firm, her hazel eyes determined to help him. "Please," Max added as if that would make a difference.

"You won't kill me, Max," She spoke with false confidence.

"I don't have to," He replied, his voice lined with regret before his gaze dropped to the gun.

"No!" Everything happened quickly after that. Dean lunged in front of her, pushing her roughly behind him. Then there was the bang of the gun going off, and then Dean jerked backwards, eyes wide. He hit the floor with a dull thud.

"DEAN!" Mel screamed, her voice containing horror, fury, and agony all at once as she dropped to her knees beside her limp boyfriend. His dark green shirt was quickly darkening as blood seeped out of the bullet hole in his chest. "No, no, no, no. Dean, hey, come on," She pressed her hands against the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood. Tears poured down her cheeks as she abandoned his chest and instead cradled his head between her hands. "Dean, please. Don't leave me," His glassy eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling of the room. She let out a broken sob as she looked up, and her eyes focused on Max, who had a single tear running down his cheek but was focused on his stepmother.

"You bastard!" She snapped furiously, all traces of the pity and good wishes she had had for the boy was gone. She stood furiously, her hazel eyes had darkened to a deep black, and Max pointed the gun on her. Suddenly, the gun dropped to the ground, and Max took a step back and glared at the gun, trying to pick it back up. It didn't move from the floor. She narrowed her eyes, and the man flew back and slammed into the wall, clawing at his neck and gasping. Her glare harshened even more if that were possible, and she picked up the gun, pointing it at the boy and pulled the trigger.

Sam gasped, holding his head as the vision faded into nothingness. Flashes came back to him: Dean's dead eyes, Mel's fury, her pain, the bullet hole, the blood. He panted and shook as he remembered what he had seen. Raw fear and desperation clawed it's way up his throat, and he let out a scream.

"No! No!" A loud scraping noise followed his words, and he froze, panting, his eyes wide. He pushed on the door, and it swung open without protest.

"You won't kill me, Max," Sam heard Mel's voice coming from down the hall, and he didn't hesitate as he ran for the door.

"I don't have to," Sam slammed into the door, shoulder first, making it crash open.

"No! Don't! Please. Please, Max," Sam glanced at where Dean was in front of Mel now, shielding her with his body. Her eyes were wide as she took in everything that could have just happened. "Max, we can help you, alright? But this, what you're doing… It's not the solution. It's not going to fix anything," Max looked at Sam with a broken expression.

"You're right," He realized softly, and the gun turned.

"No! Max!" Mel yelled and lunged for the suicidal boy, but Dean turned, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her back. She buried her into Dean's shoulder as the loud bang of the gun went off.


-1st person-

"Max attacked me. He threatened me with a gun," Mrs. Miller spoke dully to the police officer.

"And these three?" The officer who was writing everything she said down jerked his pencil at where we were standing behind the couch. She looked at us for a moment, but there was no battle in her eyes.

"They're… family friends. I called them as soon as Max arrived. I was scared," She bent the truth. "They tried to stop him. They fought for the gun," Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth with her hand. I leaned my head on Dean's shoulder and his arm tightened around my waist as we watched her struggle with what had happened.

"Where did he get the gun?" The officer questioned, and the woman rolled her eyes skyward as twin tears made their way down her cheeks.

"I don't know. He… showed up with it, and he…" She fought to get the words out between her sobs, and my heart went out to her. The officer sighed sympathetically before closing his notepad as she descended into sobs.

"It's all right, Mrs. Miller," He reassured her. She looked up, but her eyes seemed to focus on something behind him, out the window.

"I lost everyone," She sobbed, and I couldn't watch it anymore.

"I'm going to wait by the car," I told the two boys, turning and walking out the door. I brushed the lone tear angrily from my cheek. I dealt with this job every day; it shouldn't get to me like this anymore. But this had been different. That could have been me. I leaned on driver's door of the Impala and just stared at the house. You're the one that's supposed to live. What the hell did that mean? A million questions were running through my mind, yet that's the one that stuck out. I had been so sure he wouldn't kill me because of that phrase. The two boys came out of the house, and I watched them make their way to the Impala. A medic came out of the ambulance and stopped them. They talked for a brief moment before Dean left Sam to finish the conversation.

"You okay?" I met his eyes as he leaned next to me.

"No," I answered honestly, pulling my jacket tightly around me. "That could have been me,"

"No," Dean spoke confidently. "That would've never been you,"

"How do you know?" I wondered, studying his features as he turned to look at the house.

"Because I know you," He answered simply, looking back into my eyes. "And you would've never done something like that," Sam came back from talking to the paramedic.

"What did he want?" I questioned, reluctantly turning away from Dean to face Sam.

"Just checking on what injuries Max's stepmom had," Sam shrugged, going to the backseat door before pausing. "You know, I'll tell you something. We're lucky we had Dad," My eyebrows rose in surprise at his statement, but I understood what he meant.

"I never thought I'd hear you say that," Dean commented, and I smiled a little.

"Well, it could have gone a whole 'nother way after mom. A little more tequila, a little less demon hunting, then we would've had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out okay… thanks to him," Sam glanced at me and then at Dean and then back, but something was different. Something in the way he looked at me wasn't the same as this morning.

"All things considered," Dean agreed, and I nodded, getting in the passenger's seat. It took us twenty minutes to get back to the motel, and we started packing right away, even though it was ten at night. Sam opened the trunk, stowing the guns Dean had cleaned back in the bottom.

"I've been thinking," Sam began, walking back through the doorway.

"Well, that's never a good thing," I laughed softly at Dean's quip as I packed my hairbrush in my duffel.

"I'm serious," I glanced up at Sam as he spoke. We had filled Dean in on everything Max had said on the ride back to the motel, and after his initial shock, Dean had handled it pretty well. "I've been thinking, why would this demon or whatever it is, why would it kill our moms, Jessica, and Max's mom? What does it want?"

"I don't know," I answered for both of us, and Sam continued.

"You think maybe it was after us, after Max, Mel, and me?" He questioned, his eyes dropping to his bag as he packed his shirts.

"Why would you think that?" Dean asked, pausing in what he was doing to look at Sam.

"Well, all three of us had abilities," I offered, knowing where Sam's mind was headed. "You think it was chasing us down?"

"If it wanted either of you, it would have just taken you, okay?" Dean pointed out gruffly. "This is not your fault. It's not about either of you,"

"Then what is it about?" Sam asked.

"It's about that damn thing that did this to our family - the thing that we're gonna find, the thing that we're gonna kill - and that's all," Dean spoke determinedly.

"Actually, there's something else, too," Sam began just as I'd opened my mouth to tell them about what Max had said to me when I'd talked to him.

"Oh, jeez, what?" Dean sounded annoyed.

"When Max locked me in that closet, with that big cabinet against the door… I moved it," Sam finished quickly, clearing his throat, and I turned my gaze on him in surprise.

"You got a little bit more upper body strength than I gave you credit for," Dean joked, even though we both knew what he'd meant.

"No, man, I moved it, like… Max," He explained hesitantly.

"Oh," Dean muttered.

"Right," I didn't know what else to say. What do you say when a man whose basically your brother tells you he's telekinetic?

"Bend this," I glanced at Dean to see him holding up a spoon.

"I can't turn it on and off, Dean," Sam told him in annoyance and frustration.

"Well, how'd you do it in the closet then?" I questioned, and Sam's eyes grew troubled.

"I don't know. I can't control it. I just…" He trailed off, glancing at me.

"What?" I asked, feeling his uncertainty. "What? What is it?" He turned his gaze back to Dean.

"I saw you die, and it came out of me like a punch. You know, like a freak adrenaline thing," He had already told us about his vision of Dean dying, so why did he look at me like that?

"Well, I'm sure it won't happen again," Dean went back to packing, and I shoved two of my shirts into my bag before zipping it.

"Yeah, maybe. Aren't you both worried, though?" He glanced at me as he spoke his next words. "Aren't you worried that we could turn into Max or something?"

"Nope, no way," Dean told us, and my eyes flicked to him. "You know why?"

"No, why?" Sam asked, shaking his head.

"Because you two've got one advantage that Max didn't have," Sam frowned, and I smiled as I realized who Dean was talking about.

"Dad?" Sam guessed. "Because Dad's not here, Dean,"

"No," Dean grinned as he looked at me and winked as he put on his jacket. "Me," I grinned as he grabbed my duffel and his and threw them both over his shoulder. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad's gonna happen to either of you," He wrapped an arm around my waist as we walked towards the car. "Now, then, I know what we need to do about your premonitions. I know where we have to go," I raised an eyebrow, looking at Dean.

"Where?" Sam asked, glancing at me for answers I didn't have.

"Vegas," I laughed, and Dean grinned. Sam just scoffed and walked out the door, carrying his duffel to the trunk.

"What? Come on, man. Craps table. We'd clean up," Dean tried to convince him as we followed him to the car.

"Yeah, at least give it a chance, Sammy," I added, still laughing as Dean closed the door and threw the bags into the trunk. I slammed it after us.

"Hey, your driving first," Dean tossed me the keys as Sam got in the back. I caught them deftly and slid into the driver's seat, revving the engine as Dean slammed the passenger's door behind him. I pulled out of the driveway and turned onto the main road, going nowhere in particular.