Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.

Based on S01E14: Nightmare - Sometimes even the most perfect seeming things can contain a hidden heart of darkness. Warning: References to abuse.

~#~

The Three Faces of Winchester - Chapter Eight

Sam slumped onto the motel bed in exhaustion, he felt guilty that for the last couple of weeks he'd just seemed so tired all the time, when it was his brother that had been injured and on the verge of death.

"Sorry Dean, 'm so tired," he mumbled.

"Don't worry, Sammy. I'll still be here when you wake up," Dean smiled.

Reassured, sleep soon claimed Sam and within minutes the nightmare started.

~#~

He was standing outside a house he'd never seen before, but that somehow seemed familiar. A car pulled into the garage, and Sam felt compelled to follow it, just in time to clear the door that was already closing. He stared at the license plate, his brain grabbing hold of it and telling him that this was an important detail.

The driver was in his late-forties, and again Sam felt an odd flicker of recognition that he somehow knew this man who was a stranger to him. What Sam at first mistook for symptoms of cold he soon realized was the shivering of fear, but this in turn was replaced by anger that grew to an incandescent rage that burned so hot he was amazed he didn't burst into flames.

His muscles twitched, and although his arms and hands didn't move, the car doors locked and the key in the ignition turned re-starting the engine. There was no doubt in Sam's mind that he had made these things happen. The familiar-stranger made a feeble fumble at the car door as the exhaust fumes filled the interior, the sour taint of whiskey on the man's breath perhaps explaining his inability to escape.

Sam watched in numb acceptance - all the while a forgotten and buried core of burning fury screamed in righteous victory - as the man choked out his final breath and the light in his eyes faded as death took its grip.

~#~

Sam snapped back from sleep and jumped out of bed almost in a single motion, like a spring pulled back almost to its breaking point and released. He tried to throw his few possessions into his duffel, but the adrenaline was pumping so hard in his veins that he struggled to hold anything when his hands were shaking so much.

He woke Dean and tried to explain what he'd seen in his vision. Although his brother didn't really seem to understand, Sam had had a lifetime to learn the right buttons to press to get his own way. So it wasn't long before they'd traced the owner as Jim Miller - from the car registration Sam had seen - and they had sped their way across country to Saginaw, Michigan.

They arrived just in time to join the rest of the neighborhood who had gathered outside the house to watch as the paramedics wheeled a body from the garage.

Devastated to have arrived too late, Sam hovered on the edge, lost in his own thoughts as Dean slipped through the crowd and picked up the gossip from those who'd been watching the scene unfold.

"Well, the consensus seems to be that your Jim Miller was a good, upstanding family man who kept to himself and didn't cause any trouble. Police seem pretty certain it was suicide since the car was running and the keys were still in the ignition when they found him," Dean reported.

"Hey, you okay?" he asked, as Sam gradually came back to him.

Sam remained silent, he knew it wasn't suicide. It had to be something supernatural and he had a terrible feeling that this was something to do with him. There must be a connection, why else would I have had the vision? His stomach lurched, Am I somehow responsible for this happening?

"No way, man. There's no way you did this - even if you could have done this," Dean said, interrupting Sam's thoughts.

Sam looked up with a questioning expression, he hadn't realized he'd spoken out loud, Maybe I am losing my mind.

Dean worked his jaw, almost as if he was physically chewing his thoughts, "Look, no one knows you better than me, bro. I raised you when Dad wasn't around and I know you couldn't have done this, so just chill. We'll figure this out, okay?"

"Thanks man," said Sam, knowing how difficult it was for his brother to talk about his feelings.

"Come on, let's go. We'll come back in the morning."

~#~

From her vantage point across the street, Meg stepped back into the shadows when she saw an agitated-looking Sam arrive outside the Miller household.

"Well, well, now what brings you here?" she wondered aloud, amused by the irony of seeing him here, given that her failure to entrap Sam was pretty much the reason she'd been assigned to the Millers in the first place.

She swore under her breath as her cell phone chose that precise moment to go off. Seeing who the caller was she decided to risk detection and take the call.

"Hello Tom," she answered, walking a little down the street, but staying close enough to keep an eye on the house.

"Hey, Sis. Heard they'd let you out," he said, sounding a little choked.

Meg nodded, forgetting she was on the phone, but she was too overcome to quite bring herself to speak.

"So, what name you going by these days?" he asked, knowing that his sister often liked to change her name to better 'fit' her vessel. Since her first death she'd refused to answer to her birth name arguing that that woman was long dead and gone.

"Meg. It's the vessel's name, she's a wannabe actress - you'd like her. Where are you?"

"Trying to track down John Winchester... again. Can't say I'm having very much success, if I didn't know better I'd think he wasn't human - the man seems to have a supernatural ability to sense me coming. Talk about easily spooked!" there was an awkward silence before he continued, "Hear you're assigned to the son?"

Meg sighed, "On-and-off. Actually, he's just turned up here unexpectedly. I don't understand him at all. He's pretty enough to look at, but he's all over the place, talk about fucked up. You've been following yours for years, is it a Winchester thing?"

Tom just chuckled in response.

"Yeah, well, nearly got him a couple of weeks ago, but... Did you know there was another son?" she complained.

"Hmm, I think I read that somewhere," he said, sounding like he was sorting through pages and Meg could practically hear him frown down the phone, before he continued, "Ah, yes, but he's not pure bloodline, so he's not worth worrying about"

"Yeah, well, thanks for pre-warning me," she griped.

"You had access to the same info I do, if you will insist on rushing off half cocked..."

"Oh shut up, you're the one with half-a-cock," she laughed, and for a time it was like the memories of long ago before their lives and souls had been ripped away from them.

"I heard there was a problem, he almost died?" Tom said after a moment, feeling like he was walking on egg shells.

Meg took a deep breath determined not to lose her cool so early in the conversation, "That's not fair, I wasn't even assigned to him at the time, Father said I should let him go."

"Yes, well, Father has a convenient tendency to blame others for his poor decisions."

Millennia of self-preservation meant Meg couldn't help but suck in a hiss of alarm and look up and down the street to check she wasn't being observed.

"I guess I'm only lucky Winchester sorted it out for himself then," even now the fear and relief were clear in her voice.

"I don't like to think how Father would have punished you, you were lucky."

Meg forced a laugh, "Yeah, it was kinda like having your car taking itself off to get a service."

"So, what are you up to now?" Tom asked in seriousness.

"Hmm, mainly watching Daddy's test subjects implode. None of them seem especially stable so far, they seem to self-destruct just before they're ready for use. The Winchesters seem to be the only viable blood line so far, and of course they're all spoken for now."

"We should try to meet up. I wouldn't mind a chance to see this Winchester before the Boss starts wearing him. And to catch up with my little sister, of course," Tom added hurriedly.

"Oh, you old charmer you," she teased, before turning serious, "I've missed you, Tom," she winced in embarrassment at the desperation sounding so clear in her voice.

"Let's meet halfway then... How about Chicago?"

"Okay," she agreed, "let me finish up here first. I got hold of a new summoning ritual I'd like to put to the test and I'll try to think of some way of attracting their attention. How long till you can meet me there?"

"I reckon by the end of the month."

"Okay, it's a date," she said trying to keep her voice light.

"I missed you, Sis. I'm sorry for... y'know. But soon we'll be together forever." Tom answered in a voice low and thick with emotion,

Meg hung up, not bothering to answer, I'm a demon, I am not going to cry, she lied to herself.

~#~

The next morning Meg was back at her post spying on the Millers when she spotted the Impala. She was soon on the phone to Tom under the pretext of considering her next move.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," she laughed to herself, at the sight of Sam dressed in priestly attire.

"Sorry I gotta go, I gotta get a picture of this..." she apologized as she hung up and snapped a photo on the phone, before sending it through to her brother.

A moment later he sent a text back, "LOL gr8 blakmal materil IF u dared use it!"

She chuckled, she was amazed her brother could even use a phone, let alone send a text.

~#~

Disguised as priests, albeit ones most people would have assumed had barely avoided flunking out of seminary school, the brothers had managed to speak to the late Jim Miller's brother, Roger, as well as Jim's widow, Alice.

Both had seemed upset, but blandly reassuring that nothing out of the ordinary had been happening. They seemed the very definition of everything normal, safe and dull about suburban life.

Frustrated at the lack of progress, Sam grabbed the plate of mini-sausages that Dean had been methodically working his way through, "Will you stop stuffing your face with this crap," he lectured giving his best bitch face.

Dean looked hurt for a fraction of a second, but then snagged another sausage and made a point of shoving it in his mouth and chewing loudly. Sam felt nauseated just watching and scowled at him.

"I wonder if I could use your bathroom?" he asked to fill the awkward silence when he realized that Alice was staring at him. He smiled when a bemused Alice directed him to the facilities upstairs which gave him the perfect excuse to have a snoop around.

~#~

Sam stepped from the bathroom wiping his mouth, as he looked at Dean's EMF detector; it was pretty conclusive that there was no evidence of anything supernatural.

Deciding to call it a day, on the way out Sam stopped off to speak to the son, Max, a young man about his own age who, like his mother, reported a normal, happy family life.

"Normal, huh?" Dean grouched afterwards, "The guy practically had the words 'Guilty Liar' in flashing neon on his forehead. It's obvious there's a lot more going on here than meets the eye."

Sam wasn't convinced and fobbed him off, but Dean didn't like it and although he couldn't admit it to himself, there was something he had found strangely threatening about the odd little guy.

~#~

Meg had hovered outside, trying to peer in and figure out what was going on, when Roger had suddenly opened the door and scowled at her.

Taking a deep breath, Meg put on her best and broadest smile, "Hi, I'm Meggie Cleary, I'm a friend of Father Ralph over there..." she chirped, pointing at Sam who was too deep in conversation with Max to notice her.

Roger grunted, ignored her offered hand and let her in without a second glance, as he made his way back to the poor comfort of the liquor cabinet.

"So sorry for your loss," Meg smirked, using her demonic sight to admire the strangulating bonds of shame and depravity that were garroting his soul.

She carefully worked her way around the room to keep out of sight until Sam was gone, then made a beeline for Max. It could be that Max's murder of his father was accidental, that he couldn't control his power, but she needed to be sure.

"Hi, cousin," she said in way of greeting as she pushed at him a little with her dark grace to confuse his mind and befuddle his senses. As she handed him a drink doctored with her own unique special ingredient, she could sense him teetering on the edge of insanity, so ploughed on.

"Yeah, I was talking to your Uncle Roger, I know he and your father haven't really gotten along in recent years - what was it they fell out about exactly?" she asked, watching him like a hawk as he drained his drink nervously.

"I guess at least you'll see more of him now. Your Mom was just saying what a great comfort he's been," she continued, luxuriating in the scent of fear pouring off of him as he babbled lies of polite agreement.

Oh, the sweet scent of torment of an innocent victim, she could almost taste his self-hatred and humiliation from dreading the abuse, while still craving the attention he didn't otherwise receive.

She recognized the pattern she'd seen so many times before. He would have been too young to understand what was happening to him at first, but as he grew older and started to realize the wrongness of it, the crumbs of affection thrown his way would have been enough to make him blame himself for the abuse he'd endured and secure a lifetime of self-loathing and shame. What a beautiful, vile cocktail of negative emotions. Twist him and send him to Hell and it'll be pain and despair to feed on for decades.

As she watched him make his excuses and rush from the room, she knew it would only be a handful of hours before he killed again.

~#~

Later that evening while trying to research the Millers, Sam was felled by a colossal pain in his head that felt like his brain was shattering. This is it, I'm actually dying, he thought as he lost control of his body, his limbs started to spasm and foam flew from his mouth.

Dean looked on in terror, he wanted to help, but he seemed frozen in place with fear.

Sam tried to call out to his brother, but the world faded away from around him and he found himself waiting outside an unfamiliar apartment.

He flinched in fear as a figure passed by him until he realized that he recognized the man as Roger Miller. His body moved under its own volition and he found himself following the man into what was presumably his home.

Sam felt himself pass invisibly by the man and lift open one of the windows. Against his will he held the window fast as Roger tried to lower it, then slammed it down hard when Roger foolishly put his head under it. As the blood exploded towards him, he came back to himself in his own motel room.

At Dean's insistence Sam had first showered and changed, his face burning with shame the whole time. Then they had rushed to Roger's apartment in an attempt to warn him, only to have him slam the door in their faces. Mere moments later he was killed exactly as Sam had foreseen in his vision.

Still no closer to an explanation they drove back dejected to their motel.

"I'm scared, Dean. So now I'm seein' things when I'm awake? And man, is it painful," Sam grumbled, fighting a rising hysteria.

"Come on, Sam, it'll be alright. You'll be fine."

"What is it about the Millers? Why the hell is this happening to me?" Sam bit his lip in worry, each vision had seemed to have him playing an active, if unwillingly, role. Am I making this happen somehow?

"I don't know, Sam, but we'll figure it out, okay?" Dean tried to reassure his brother. He didn't mention that he'd already considered that it might be Sam, but it just made no sense for his brother to target the Millers, if anything he'd make a more likely target.

In a way Dean was glad they hadn't found their father yet, because as much as he wanted him back, he felt it prudent to sort this out first.

John was not known for his patience with anything not 100% human and Dean felt a chill at the realization that his father might insist they kill Sammy, rather than accept that a member of the Winchester clan might be a monster.

"It's never been in the family like this. Tell the truth, you can't tell me this doesn't freak you out," Sam continued, breaking Dean's train of thought.

"This doesn't freak me out," said Dean, freaking out on the inside. He'd wondered for a while what the Reaper had meant by 'the players on both sides of the board'. He'd always felt like the middle ground for the stormy relationship between his father and his brother, Was the Reaper talking about Sam and Dad?

So whose side am I supposed to be on?

~#~

They returned to the Miller household the next afternoon, Max answered the door, and reluctantly let them in.

"So, how you holdin' up?" asked Sam.

"I'm okay," said Max. Sam wondered if the young man was medicated to sound that calm and emotionless.

"So, your Dad and Uncle were close?" asked Sam more to fill the awkward silence.

"Yeah, I guess. 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. It's just-we used to be neighbors when I was kid. And we lived across town in this house, and Uncle Roger lived next door, so he... he was over all the time."

"Right. So, how was it in that house when you were a kid?"

Max adopted a trapped expression, "It was f-fine. Why?" he asked, wiping at his mouth.

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

"What do you-why do you ask?" Max asked, tripping over the words and confused by the sudden aggressive tone.

"It was just a question," Dean said, the hostility quite clear in his voice. There was just something monstrous about Max that turned his stomach.

"No. There was nothing. It was a dream, we were totally normal. Happy," Max sounded like he was reciting from a well-rehearsed script.

"That's a... good. Well, you must be exhausted. We should take off," said Dean, getting himself under control.

"Right. Thanks," added Sam in an apologetic voice.

"Er, yeah," answered Max, showing them out with palpable relief.

~#~

Having noticed how scared Max had seemed at the mention of the old house, they decided to pay it a visit, expecting a haunting or at least a presence of some description. What they found was far worse and unfortunately more prevalent.

Sam noticed an older man working outside the house opposite was keeping a close eye on them while sweeping the leaves from his lawn. It didn't take too much of Sam's brand of full-on, earnest politeness before the man opened up and shared his reminiscences of the Millers.

"Oh yeah, I remember them," the man answered sourly, "The brother had the place next door."

He gave Sam an appraising glance, "So you're finally here about that poor kid?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, trying to keep his voice non-committal.

"You're from CPS, yes?"

Sam had to think about which pocket that ID was in, but the neighbor didn't notice the hesitation. The man nodded to himself as he inspected the badge, "Yeah, you had that liberal do-gooder look about you, no offence."

"None taken, sir," Sam said in his best professional voice, glaring at Dean's poor attempt to smother a chuckle, "Now what can you tell me about Max?"

"Oh, well, he was always a strange child. Wouldn't want him looking after your pets, if you know what I mean?" he smiled slyly.

He coughed and carried on when Sam didn't respond to the joke, "Well, in my life, I've never seen a child treated like that. The man was one mean ol' drunk, used to hear him cursing from across the street. He used to beat the tar out of the boy."

Sam had a sudden flashback of his father's face, lips curled back and screaming obscenities at him.

"And this was going on regularly?" asked Sam, shivering at the sudden chill wind.

"Practically every day. And that creepy brother of his was just as bad. They had some sort of major falling out and they moved away separately, and I'm pretty sure it was over the boy. I was glad when they went, I could let my kids play out front again," it didn't take much for Sam to read between the lines to understand what the man was hinting at.

"And that stepmother was a waste of space - she'd just stand there, never lifting a finger to protect him."

Sam was struck by an early memory of his brother that played-back unbidden in his mind. It must had been just after he'd been snatched away from James Ellicott, the doctor who had shown him that there were people in the world who could bring kindness, who would stand up and try to protect him from pain. Dean had stepped in to stoically take the first of what would be many beatings that had been meant for Sammy. At the time it had seemed like he hadn't seen his brother for a long, long time, but from that point on he'd always felt safe, warm and protected by Dean, cocooned from the terrifying events going on around him.

"Isn't it a little late for you guys to be turning up now?" the man's voice sounded far, far away to Sam's ears.

"Now, you said stepmother?" Dean asked, detecting his brother's discomfort and stepping in once more as a good, older brother should.

"I think his real mom died. Some kinda accident," the man's words were like a discordant bell that echoed around inside Sam's brain making him cry out in pain.

"Are you okay, there?" the neighbor asked in concern, as Sam clutched his head and started hyperventilating.

"Yeah," Sam answered in a painful gasp.

"Thanks for your time," said Dean, this time taking firm control and rolling his eyes at yet another example of Sam's recent insistence on doing things for himself.

~#~

Dean walked them back to the car, just in time before Sam was struck down by another vision, this time of Max using some sort of psychic ability to kill his stepmother with a kitchen knife.

"This whole time I thought it was me, but it wasn't. Somehow Max is like me, but I'm seeing these things through his eyes," gasped Sam, recovering from the pain of the vision, as he explained the rest of his vision.

"He's nothing like you, Sam" Dean added absently, as he drove the Impala back to the Millers. He was just relieved that it wasn't Sam, but the psychic ability still made him uncomfortable, "Max is a monster, he's already killed two people, and it sounds like he's gonna kill again."

"Yes, but you heard what the neighbor said about the abuse he went through."

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam's protests while grabbing his gun from the glove box, Oh, man, Sam'd defend the devil given the chance, maybe it's the lawyer in him? And aren't they all s'posed to be headed straight to Hell anyway?

~#~

Max looked up from the argument with his stepmother to see the strange priest from earlier come bursting through the door.

The more he looked at the so-called priest, the more he couldn't believe he could have been so taken in. His mind couldn't quite encompass the truth of what he saw in the frightening vision of the apocalyptic future that seemed to swirl all around the tall man in front of him. It was like watching a vortex of light and dark encased in a human body. It almost made him feel sorry for the fake priest, but he knew at that moment he was doomed and he'd be damned if he'd go down without a fight.

Sam desperately tried to reason with Max, "Look, what they did to you growing up-they deserve to be punished."

"Growing up? Try last week," Max laughed, lifting his shirt to show a painfully thin torso stripped with countless scars, cuts and bruises, "He blamed me for everything. For his job, for his life, for my mom's death."

"Why would he blame you for your mom's death?" asked Sam with a sick feeling of déjà vu.

"Because when he was drunk he'd say I had the devil in me, that when I was a baby I burned my mom on the ceiling of my nursery. He always said the beating would drive the demons outta me, that it was for my own good."

Sam paled in shock and excitement of a possible lead back to his own past, "Listen to me, Max. What your dad said about your mom is real. It happened to my mom, too. "

Max's face twisted in fury as he misunderstood Sam's meaning, "No, it's not my fault. I still have nightmares about what they did to me! I'm sick of being scared all the time."

With a wave of Max's arm, Sam found himself flying through the air and crashing into a closet. A moment later the door slammed closed and a bureau shifted itself across the floor to block him in.

~#~

Sam groaned in pain as he held his head, this time suffering from an actual physical injury. He was unsure if he'd been unconscious for seconds or hours, but within moments of regaining consciousness he was overwhelmed with another vision, this time the image was different - more blurred and indistinct. Sam found he couldn't concentrate on the details like before - it was more like a series of ideas than something he could actually see.

He knew that Alice was in danger and that the gun was going to be used on Dean. He knew he'd hear a shot and the thought made a scream build up in his throat. As it burst into life, the door exploded outward with such force that it flew off of its hinges.

Sam ran out in time to see Max pointing Dean's gun at Alice, "No, don't! Please, Max. It's not gonna fix anything," Sam begged.

Max stared for the longest time at the strange mix of pulsating, demonic-energy swirling around Sam that was so at odds with the kindness of his words. Whatever he did changed nothing ; he was trapped in a nightmare and it seemed to make no difference if his eyes were open or not. I'm so tired, I just want it to stop. What's the point of running when there's nowhere to run to?

"You're right," he said with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes, "It's not."

Without warning he pushed the gun up under his jaw and fired, dropping dead to the ground.

~#~

Sam paused as he walked to the car, wracked with guilt, "If I'd just said something else, I'm sure I coulda gotten through to him somehow."

Dean huffed in irritation, "Don't torture yourself, man. It doesn't matter what you said, Max was too far gone. He was a monster."

"You should've seen how he looked at me, y'know, right before... I should've done something."

"Oh come on! I mean, yeah, maybe if we had gotten there twenty years earlier."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing - we're lucky we had Dad," said Sam intensely.

Dean felt a momentary flicker of unease and a vague, recent memory of his father shouting at him in a motel car park. He shivered, dismissing the thought, covering it with a laugh, "I never thought I'd hear you say that."

"A little more tequila, a little less demon-hunting, and we would've had Max's childhood. All things considered, we turned out okay - thanks to him."

Dean stared in numb disbelief at his brother, wondering at how little Sam sometimes seemed to remember of their childhood, "All things considered," he swallowed, letting it go.

"Dean, I've been thinking," Sam continued, not noticing his brother's discomfort.

"Well, that's never a good thing," Dean joked, trying to lift the mood.

"I'm serious. I've been thinking-why would this demon, or whatever it is, why would it kill Mom and Jessica and Max's mother, you know, what does it want?"

"No idea," Dean answered curtly. He'd already given this more than enough thought recently, and wished his brother would just drop it.

"Well, you think maybe it was after us? After Max and me? We both had abilities, maybe it was after us for some reason?"

"Sam, if it wanted you, it would've just taken you, okay? This is not your fault. It's not about you."

"Then what is it about?"

Dean was barely able to hiss his answer through teeth gritted with rage, "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."

"Actually, there's, uh, somethin' else, too," added Sam, feeling understandably nervous following Dean's tirade, but not quite able to stop himself.

"Oh, jeez, what?" Dean asked, eye-rolling to Heaven for strength.

"When Max locked me in that closet, that big cabinet against the door-I moved it. Like Max."

"Oh. Right," Dean said, playing it cool despite the sharp chill of terror that chased up his spine and made the hair at the back of his neck stand up. Once again he thanked God that their father wasn't there to hear this. How can I choose between them? Oh please God, please don't make me have to choose.

"Well, I'm sure it won't happen again," he added, making the hope sound like an order.

Sam nodded, "Yeah, maybe. Aren't you worried, man, aren't you worried that I could turn into Max or something?"

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, Whyn't you just ask me to gank you already, it'd be quicker? In that moment he chose his side. He steeled his expression, "Nope. No way. You know why?"

"No. Why?"

"Cause you've got one thing that Max didn't."

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

"No. Me. That's what I'm for. And as long as I'm around, nothing bad's gonna happen to you."

~#~

Meg shoved Alice Miller's cooling body to one side with distaste as she swirled the woman's blood in the bronze chalice and whispered a dark incantation over it.

"Well, it didn't turn out the way intended, but I just received your package," her father's deep voice echoed gruffly from the cup.

"There's enough guilt and anguish to feed on for a while, and when we're done with him he should make a fairly powerful demon," he continued, actually sounding pleased for once, "And getting the Winchester boy to do it was a nice touch. Well done girl, you did okay."

"Thank you, Daddy," she said respectfully, giddy to be the recipient of such high praise.

When he instructed her to get closer to Sam, Meg decided it was definitely time to meet up again with Tom.

~#~