Elizabeth wakes up to a shirt being thrown at her head and Sam's manic ramblings. She jerks upright and nearly falls off the bed, looking around for a monster and finding none. "What," she asks, squinting up at Sam. "Why? I was…. Sleep!"
"We gotta go," he says, stuffing some clothes in a bag. "I had another dream, or a vision. I don't know, it was something." She rolls out of bed and barely lands on her feet, grabbing a fresh change of clothes before shuffling into the bathroom. "No time for showers!"
"Don't yell at me this early in the morning, Winchester. I go for the eyes in a fight." She points a warning finger at him before closing the bathroom door, setting her clothes on the back of the toilet. She dresses quickly in a pair of jeans and a sweater, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail and brushing her teeth. She lets the water run in the sink longer than necessary out of pure spite.
The boys are already in the car when she comes out, her bag missing along with her glasses. How the fuck is she supposed to navigate a dark motel room without her glasses? If she stubs her toe on something on the way out, whatever happened in Sam's vision is going to seem tame.
"Give me my glasses," she demands as she slides into the backseat. Sam tosses them over his shoulder, flipping through John's journal until he finds a list of police codes that are updated at least twice a month. "So, what's going on?"
"I saw a guy being killed in his garage," Sam mutters. "He'd just parked when the garage door shut, car doors locked by themselves and the car turned back on. Now hush." He brings his phone up to his ear, rattling off a fake badge number and ID, putting out a search for a license plate.
"Maybe it was just a nightmare, man," Dean tries. He pulls out onto the highway, driving over the speed limit since there's no traffic. The clock in the dash says that it's a little after one in the morning, a time when Elizabeth should be dreaming about owning her own library where rum and cokes are free and she doesn't have to wear a bra. "I bet the license plate won't check out either."
"It felt like the nightmare I had before we went back to Lawrence."
"Yeah, but that was about stuff that actually mattered to our family. Why would you be worried about some random dude in Michigan?"
"I don't know. Maybe it doesn't revolve around my loved ones, maybe it's just…." He lets out a sigh, shaking his head. "I don't know how to explain it." Elizabeth reaches out to squeeze his shoulder, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror.
"We got your back either way," she promises. He nods and turns back to the phone call.
"Yes, I'm still here." He scrambles for a pen, scribbling something down in the journal as she starts to talk again. "Jim Miller—Saginaw, Michigan. Do you have a street address? Got it. Thanks." He snaps his phone closed and puts it in his pocket, running a hand through his hair. "How far out are we?"
"Couple hours," Dean says.
"Then drive faster."
They arrive at the Miller house an hour and twenty minutes later, the crime scene not even taped off yet. In fact, it's so fresh that they've just loaded a man's corpse onto a gurney and are in the process of zipping shut the body bag. They park across the street, hugging the curb as a crowd of on-lookers gather.
"I wasn't fast enough," Sam mutters as they get out.
"Maybe this vision wasn't like the one from Lawrence or with Jess," Elizabeth says, rounding the car to stand next to him. "Maybe it was happening at the same time that you saw it. I mean, it's not like we've done a crap load of research on psychic abilities. The closest I've come to that is re-reading The Shining."
"Let's just go see what everyone's saying." They head over to the crowd, watching as the gurney is loaded up.
"What happened," Dean asks a woman next to him.
"Suicide," she answers sadly. She shakes her head a little, hands fidgeting at her sides as though to keep them from burying themselves in her hair. "I just can't believe it. I saw him every Sunday at St. Augustine's. He always seemed so normal, but I guess you never know what's going on behind closed doors."
"How are they saying it happened," Sam asks.
"I heard they found him in the garage, locked inside with the engine running. It happened an hour or so ago." She shakes her head again, short hair swaying at the motion. "I don't even want to imagine what his poor family's going through right now." Sam bites his cheek and then his lip, doing his best not to cry as he stalks to a less crowded area.
"We should have gotten here sooner."
"Any faster and we'd have ended up in a ditch," Dean says.
"What's the point of all these premonitions if I can't save people?"
"You saved an entire family just a couple months ago," Elizabeth reminds him. She brushes some hair away from his eyes, letting her fingers lingers as she brushes them along his cheek. He leans into the touch, craving anything positive after all the crap they've been through. "If you hadn't insisted on us going back to Lawrence, then two little kids and their mom would be dead and your mom would still be stuck there."
"This guy wasn't so lucky. Neither was Jess."
"Still not your fault, Sammy."
"Liza's right," Dean agrees. "You can't keep blaming yourself about all of this. What would Jess do if she saw you moping about things you can't change?" Sam huffs a laugh, even manages a smile even if it's shaky.
"She'd probably shove a pint of ice cream at me and force me to call Lilly," Sam admits. "Five minutes of listening to her babble about Polly Pockets is enough to cheer anyone up."
"Tell you what, I'll buy you all the ice cream you can stomach and we'll call Darren in the morning before Lilly goes to school." Sam dips his head in a nod, looking almost like the sheepish kid Elizabeth grew up with, all puppy eyes and floppy hair. "For now, let's find out if this is our type of gig."
"How are we supposed to find that out? That family doesn't look like they'll be talking to anyone anytime soon."
"Don't worry about that, Sammy. I've got an idea."
Turns out the only idea Dean can think of is to dress up like a couple of priests and head on out before Elizabeth is fully awake enough to give a crap. She's not complaining, mind you, but it'll probably be irritating after her second cup of coffee. Instead of joining them at the house, she stays in the motel and watches everything from Sam's laptop, a hidden camera in Dean's collar providing a live stream for her entertainment.
On the computer, the front door of the Miller house swings open to reveal a middle-aged man with a beer gut and thinning hair. He looks pleasant enough, she supposes, but not nearly broken up enough considering what had happened the night before.
"Good afternoon," Dean greats pleasantly. "I'm Father Simmons and this is Father Freely, we're new junior priests over at St. Augustine's. May we come in?" The man nods and even gives them a smile, stepping aside to hold the door open wider. A surprising majority of people don't question priests as long as they have some sort of religious belief. It almost makes Elizabeth feel bad, but the feeling subsides between one blink and another. It also helps that she slept until around eleven, so she's well-rested enough not to give a crap about guilt.
"We're very sorry for your loss," Sam says, the last to go inside.
"It's in difficult times like these when the Lord's guidance is most needed." The guy's pleasant smile drops into a scowl, almost a cartoonish thing.
"Save the God talk for someone who gives a crap," he says. "I don't have time to listen to it while helping my sister-in-law."
"Roger," a woman admonishes. Dean turns so that Elizabeth can see her, a skinny thing with pale blonde hair that falls straight to her shoulders and tears making her blue eyes look cloudy. The camera they picked up at that joke store is freaking amazing.
"Excuse me." Roger ambles off towards the kitchen, leaving the boys to talk to the new widow.
"I'm sorry about him. He's really broken up about Jim's death." The camera bobs as Dean nods his acceptance of her answer, the sound of rustling cloth coming through the speaker loud and clear. "Would you like some coffee?"
"I'd love some," Dean says.
"I've got some," Elizabeth says, well aware that talking to herself is a sign of being nuts. She doesn't care because she slept in and her Frappuccino is fucking amazing. She takes a long swallow, savoring the taste of chocolate thick on her tongue. The only thing that would make this coffee better was if she was licking it off Dean's abs. She's pretty sure he won't go for that a second time though. The widow, Alice, gestures for them to head into a sitting room before wandering into the kitchen.
"Are you gettin' all this, Liza," Dean asks, bringing his cell out of his coat pocket.
"Loud and clear."
"What do you think so far?"
"Her grief is real."
"That's what I'm picking up, too." He pockets his phone again as Alice comes back into the room with a serving tray, setting it down on the coffee table. She pours using an old teapot, the cups more suited to afternoon tea in a Jane Austen novel rather than black coffee for two dudes pretending to be priests.
"It's nice of you two to stop by," Alice says. "The support of the church means so much right now."
"It's no problem at all, Mrs. Miller." Elizabeth thinks back to her old music teacher that shared Alice's surname, wondering if she's related before tuning back into the conversation. "We're all God's children and I think we should be there to hold each other up in times like these." Alice nods and sits on the couch next to Dean, hands clasped together in her lap. "Did your husband have a history of depression?"
"No, nothing so severe." She dips her head to blink away tears before meeting Dean's stare again. "We had problems like everyone else, but we were happy." She can't fight the tears this time, voice choked with them. "I just don't understand why Jim would do something like this."
"I'm so sorry you had to find him like that," Sam says, voice gentle and quiet. Elizabeth has vague memories of finding her sister, grief and shock casting a gray fog over them until she woke up in the hospital with Bobby sitting next to her and the baby in his arms.
"Our son was the one to find Jim." She gestures vaguely and Dean shifts so that Elizabeth can see a man sitting in the corner away from everyone else. People seemed to avoid him and he seemed to prefer it. She can't make out much other than the fact that he's skinny with a high forehead and wild hair. "Max…. I've never seen him so upset before."
"Would it be okay if I talked to him?"
"That would be wonderful, Father. Thank you." Sam gives her a kind smile, then he's disappearing from Elizabeth's view. Dean focuses back on Alice, pulling a tissue out of a box and handing it over to her. The tears have tapered off again, but they still gather among her lashes.
"Mrs. Miller, you have a lovely home," Dean says. Really? The lady's mourning her husband and he tells her that her decorating skills are awesome? Elizabeth seriously needs to write up some flashcards or something. "How long have you lived here?"
"Um, about five years."
"My family lived in a house like this when I was a kid. It was an old one, too, and it made the weirdest noises sometimes. Like rats in the walls or somethin'. Don't even get me started on the electrical shortages. I bet you know all about that."
"No, not at all." Dean hums, the vibrations making the hidden camera jiggle.
"Do you mind if I use your restroom?"
"Sure. It's right up the stairs." Dean has his phone against his ear as soon as he's out of Alice's sight, his voice a welcome sound.
"What do you think, Liza?"
"I think she's hiding something," Elizabeth says, reclining in the chair. She's got her bare feet propped up on the table and her nail file out, the cell jammed between her shoulder and ear. She'll need to get a new manicure soon, but that can wait until this case is done with. "They're not the Addams family or anything, but there's something mysterious and spooky going on."
"It's like they're holding something back."
"They have to be if Sam's Spidey senses are tingling. So far that's only happened with supernatural bullshit." She puts her file away and allows her feet to drop back to the floor, letting out a sigh. "Can you paint my nails later? My hands shake too much."
"Sure. Let me know if you see anything on the screen."
"What are you doing?"
"Thermal scan and looking for goo."
"Yuck." The line goes dead aside from Dean's quiet breathing, the camera bobbing whenever he swallows. She doesn't see anything, no orbs or shadows. "Maybe this is a false alarm."
"Does it feel like a false alarm?"
"No." She scowls, but her gaze never leaves the computer. Dean manages to get all the way down an upstairs hallway before he hears something, stuffing the scanner in his coat and spinning on his heel. Sam is at the other end of the hall, holding his arms out.
"Got anything," Sam asks.
"Not a damn thing."
"We got bupkis up here," Dean relays. "Hang on, let me put Liza on speaker." There's a faint beep over the line and then the phone call gets a little more tinny. She really hates being on speakerphone. "I say we pick up some lunch and head back to the motel."
"I can hit the library later and see if I can dig anything up on the Millers' house. Maybe there's been other suicides in it. Or deaths that look suicides anyway."
"Sounds good to me," Sam says, nodding. "What do you want from the diner?"
"A strawberry shake and the biggest burger they have, ketchup and pickles only."
"Yeah, yeah, I know how you take your burgers."
Sam and Elizabeth hit the library right after lunch, printing out page after page until it closes at six. They didn't find much of anything, but it's better to have the land's history close by in case they need a reference later. Still, seeing Sam this upset makes Elizabeth want to wrap him in a bubble and hide him from the world.
"So we still have nothing to go on except your vision," Dean checks, cleaning the sawed-off. His nimble fingers fix all the pieces back together until it's fully functional again, smelling of gun oil. Elizabeth loves the smell, grew up around it.
"Seems like it," Sam confirms. He hands another thumbtack to Elizabeth, watching from the bed as she pins another page to the wall. The history is interspersed with lore, a few copies made from John's journal joining their mess of crazy. "And you didn't find anything in the house?"
"The only thing I found out is that Alice keeps a spotless house. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere." Sam's shoulders droop and it takes everything Elizabeth has not to hug him. He doesn't like being coddled and he'll only sit on her if she tries.
"So you think my dream was just a weird coincidence?" Dean and Elizabeth lock gazes over Sam's head, the silent conversation leading up to the one conclusion they can think of. "What's with the staring?"
"We're fifty percent certain that there might be something wrong with the family rather than the house, Sammy. Like Liza said earlier, all your visions have happened because of the supernatural. Obviously something's going on."
"And we just have to find it." Sam winces, digging the heel of his hand against his forehead. It's probably just a migraine from staring at a computer screen for hours. Elizabeth isn't worried since he gets them all the time. "Maybe we should dig up some information—Ahh!"
"Sam?" Elizabeth glances over at him again, finding him with his back curved sharply and his fingers digging into his scalp. The papers fall from her hand and are trampled under her shoes as she rushes to his side, cupping his face in her hands.
"Deep breaths," she says, massaging his temples. "Dean, wrap some ice in a towel and press it against the base of his skull." Dean's up and moving before she's finished talking, quickly filling a towel with ice and bringing it back over. "What's happening, big guy?" She moves to the ground with him, cradling him against her chest as his heaving breaths slowly start to even out and his eyes glaze over. "Sammy?"
"I see a kitchen," Sam tells them, voice calm. It almost sounds like he's high, the words rolling off his tongue with a smooth cadence. "Roger's coming into it with groceries and there's…. There's something in there with him." His eyes squint like he's trying to see through fog, one of his hands grasping Elizabeth's shirt tight enough that the fabric rips a little.
"What else do you see?"
"It opened the window. Nothing's there, but I know it did it. The window slid open and Roger's going to check it out. He closes it and locks it and moves away, but I can see the lock moving. Something is in there with him and it's opening the window again. It won't close now, it's stuck."
"Can you see what opened the window?"
"A shadow did it." His eyes widen suddenly and his breath comes out in a sharp gust as he lurches backwards against the nightstand, taking Elizabeth with him. His head thumps against the knob, but he doesn't seem to notice. "He stuck his head out to see if someone was fucking with him and he lost it! Liza, it cut his head off!"
"It's gonna be okay, Sammy," Dean promises, pulling both of them back against him. His arms aren't quite long enough, but he does his best to keep them both against his chest while Sam and Elizabeth are still clinging to each other. "We're gonna figure this out."
"We have to save Roger. We have to warn him before it's too late."