-Summary: It's the end of the world and they've got one last card to play. Castiel sends Dean back: back before everything. Now he has time to stop what's coming, but no friggin' clue how to do it. Time travel should really come with a manual. TIMELINE AU

-Chapter Warnings: Dean's got the usual potty mouth, Sam's on a roller-coaster ride of emotions, and Max Miller isn't buying the FBI Agents there to save the day.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (this Time Around)

Chapter 26

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The car shook as the driver side door shut, Dean climbing into the Impala next to his brother. The key hadn't even turned in the ignition before Sam was on him.

"So talk."

Dean sighed. "It's only a day's drive to Saginaw."

Sam's brow furled, not following his brother's train of thought. "So? What's that got to do with anything?"

Dean put the car in reverse and backed away from Bobby's house. Baby hadn't been moved since they'd first arrived in their frantic search for John, since Bobby insisted he drive them to the hospital for Dean's broken arm that night, and the younger hunter hadn't exactly cared about a good parking job when they'd gotten there earlier that day. He flipped gears and pulled onto the partially designated drive, differentiated only by the lack of junkers on the clear stretch of gravel and dirt.

"It's not long enough. Not for the whole story, trust me."

"So I get nothing?" Sam huffed, a disbelieving look painted across his bitter smile and raised eyebrows. "We're going to spend the next twelve hours pretending you're not from the future? Oh, yeah, that's going to be a fun ride."

Dean wrung his hand on the steering wheel as he pulled onto the interstate. The conversation was inevitable and he knew it. "What do you want to know?"

Sam turned his head to look at his older brother, who kept his eyes firmly on the road. "What does Yellow Eyes want?"

"Azazel." Dean cleared his throat. He rubbed his broken arm against his sternum and the light ache there. "His name's Azazel."

His kid brother stared at him, brow creased and roiling emotions too masked by the gravity of the situation for Dean to read him easily.

"What does Azazel want with me?"

-o-o-o-

Sam was numb.

He thought he shouldn't be. He should probably be freaking out. Stressed. Emotional. Stunned. Any of that would be a proper reaction to learning you were going to herald the end of the world. Sam Winchester, boy with the demon blood, destined freer of Lucifer and vessel of the actual devil.

The young hunter let out a low, slow breath through pursed lips.

They were at a gas station just outside of Rochester, Minnesota. Dean was by the pump, leaning against the side of the Impala as he filled her up. Sam could tell from his posture, going from rigid to forcefully relaxed and back again, that he was trying to give his brother space but didn't want to leave his sight either.

Sam didn't pay him much attention. Sitting in the front seat, he was busy being numb. Not the tingling numb of a limb falling asleep, but the floating sensation of no longer having any ties to the world or the laws that defined it. There was no gravity afflicting his body, pushing his limbs into the old leather of the seats, the rough fabric of his clothes. There was no scent of coffee wafting up from the cup holders or faded music filtering from the broken speakers of the gas station roof. None of that was real – couldn't be – because Sam didn't feel any of it.

He needed to call Jess. It was the only thought that kept going through his head. Everything Dean had told him, from Azazel's plan for him, to defeating the Devil, and all he could think about was calling Jess. She deserved to know he wasn't coming back.

Sam pushed open the passenger door with the squeak of metal. Dean looked up from the pump, across the roof of the car. His face was full of brotherly concern – the stern type that was about to ask him where he was going. Sam turned away before he could, heading for the small store attached to the pumps.

Dean didn't call after him and he was glad for it.

The young hunter didn't duck around the corner of the dilapidated building like he wanted to. His brother would absolutely put him back in line of sight the moment he was out of it, even if he stayed far enough away to give him some privacy. So Sam didn't waste energy trying for it. Instead, he leaned against the edge of the convenience store, as far from the entrance and close to the side of the building as he could go while still remaining in his brother's vision.

Pulling out his phone, he turned his shoulder to the car and raised the mobile to his ear.

Dean had been emphatic that what happened next – what they were going to change so it never came – wasn't his to face alone. Yes, he was supposed to release the devil on the world and serve as his physical presence. Yes, in the world Dean came from, it had happened. But his brother insisted that he'd also been the one to stop Lucifer, to cage him back up at the cost of his own life. Dean had played his own role as well, breaking the first seal as unwittingly as Sam had broken the last. Though he had skirted details due to what he claimed were time constraints (but Sam easily read as bitter memories and avoidance), he'd made it clear that the two were pawns – weapons – in a war between Heaven and Hell.

So they were going to throw the rule book out. Screw destiny. Go Team Free Will. They'd done it once before, and this time they had the edge of knowing what was coming. They wouldn't be tricked into that fate crap again.

Sam's fingers tightened around the edge of the phone as it rang. See, there was a problem with that plan that Dean didn't know about. Sam believed in Fate. In Destiny. The idea that he was meant for something more, something better than hunting, had gotten him through his dark childhood of shotguns and shovels. Sam believed in God and he believed in a plan, because it had been one of the rare lights in the long nights of his youth that he could believe in.

Now Dean was insisting both sides, Heaven and Hell, were dicks and God was a no-show; a deadbeat dad with nothing but excuses and silence. There was no good side in the upcoming war but their own. The oorah-comradery was his brother's attempt at following up some terrible news with a ray of hope, but it did nothing for Sam's numb state. He could feel the taint of demon blood slithering beneath his skin and he knew, as painful as it was to admit it, that he wasn't on the side of good.

"Sam?"

The Winchester boy sucked in a breath at the sound of Jess's voice through the phone. Just hearing her used to bring a smile to his face. He knew, given other circumstances, it absolutely still would. But not tonight. He looked down at the sidewalk beneath his feet, spattered with chewed gum and cigarette butts, illuminated by the flickering gas station lights above

"Hey, Jess." His return was lackluster, despite giving it half a thought of forcing a smile to his face. It would be misplaced and unfair to her now, especially with what he learned. He didn't have it in him to fake that kind of happiness.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's…nothing immediate." He shook his head and pulled the phone away from his ear for a moment. Sam tilted his head back and closed his eyes, praying to someone who his brother insisted wasn't listening.

And he would know, wouldn't he?

"Sam? Talk to me." Jess's voice was sweet as he put the phone back to his ear. She was worried for him, her words dipped with concern and a love that Sam knew now he didn't deserve. "Is it your dad? Did you find him?"

"Yeah. He's…" A bastard, that's what John Winchester was. "…fine. We're uh…we found him, but he left again."

"What an asshole." Her response, immediate and without remorse, made him chuckle. God, he missed her. Silence filled the line for a moment, and he could almost picture her if he closed his eyes. Thin but strong fingers tightening around the phone, blonde waves pressing against her cheek from the weight of the phone, worry in her eyes and bottom teeth abusing the corner of her lip.

"I'm okay, Jess," he said quietly, trying to reassure her as he realized that these calls did nothing but bring her more pain. That's all he seemed capable of bringing his loved ones right now. And for the foreseeable future. That's why he had to let her go. Why she had to let him go. "I…I learned some things. We found out the demon's plan."

"That's….that's good, right?" He could tell from her tone that she knew it wasn't good. "Better than not knowing…"

"Yeah. But…uh…it's not…" Sam opened his eyes, staring at the edge of the gas station property, marked by an old wooden fence. Dozens had left their mark on that fence, from stains of shattered beer bottles to graffiti gang symbols, tags, and one beautiful mural of a weeping Native American woman. "It's not going to end anytime soon, Jess."

She didn't answer right away, and he knew she was pursing her lips on the other end of the line. The truth was, they'd both known that was the most likely outcome. They'd clung onto each other and their love out of a hope that this could end, that they could be together. But Sam knew it had been unlikely, and each time he talked with Jess he realized she knew it too.

"Okay," she answered softly. "It's okay, Sam. We'll get through this."

"No," he shook his head. "No. I…I want you to…You shouldn't... Don't wait for me Jess."

He tried not to say it, to telegraph it, but the unvoiced I'm not coming back was audible all the same. There was a muffled sound down the line, and he knew she was crying and trying not to.

"Don't make this a goodbye, Sam." Her words were fierce and full of fire, even as the tears surely trekked down her beautiful face. "This is not goodbye. We'll…We'll take a break, yeah? But I'll be here. I will be right here, Sam."

There were tears building in his own eyes now, and he rolled his gaze skyward once more, trying to blink them away.

"I don't want you to wait, Jess."

"I won't. I won't put my life on hold for you, Sam Winchester." Her tone, broken with the half laugh she forced out, belied any harshness to her words and it made him smile through watery vision of his own. "I find one of those cute pre-meds back at school and I'm gone."

Sam choked out a laugh. He could hear her smile through her tears, even as her voice softened and her words turned sincere. "Just because I'm not with you doesn't mean I'm not here. I will never stop loving you Sam. And I will always be here for you."

He bowed his head, water flowing freely down his face and hitting the cement below. He did not deserve this woman.

"So you will call me when you need me. You hear me, Sam?"

He sniffed but laughed, and she joined him in their bittersweet love. "I hear you."

The rumble of an engine caught his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder. Dean had climbed into the Impala and was pulling away from the pump, maneuvering the muscle car to an empty parking spot across the gas station. The car idled for a second, then shut off and Dean didn't climb out.

Sam knew what his brother was offering without words, so he turned back to his phone and asked Jess how her first term back at Stanford was going.

-o-o-o-

Dean didn't ask about Jess when Sam climbed back into the car, but the younger man knew he wanted to. He thought about offering up the information, but he was tired. Tired of playing mediator between himself and his brother when the wrongs lay mostly in Dean's court. Tired of this game, this hunt that never seemed to end. He felt weary down to his bones, and if his brother was right about what was coming, it wasn't going to end anytime soon.

"What's it like?" he asked instead, head tilted back against the seat as he stared out the top of the windshield at the world passing them by. His periphery caught the curious look his brother shot him, so he clarified what he thought was fairly obvious. "Time travel."

"It sucks," Dean answered obnoxiously. The blunt, immediate response made Sam chuckle, despite his dour mood. "You don't poop for like a week."

The younger brother laughed again, but shook his head. That's not what he meant and he had a feeling Dean knew it. "No, I mean what's it like? Being…back?"

His brother fell silent for a moment, eyes on the road as he contemplated his next words. After a moment, Dean wrapped his knuckles against the steering wheel and nodded to himself, as if coming to an internal conclusion. "It ain't a cakewalk, I'll tell you that much."

Sam turned his head to finally take his brother fully in. The older hunter chanced a glance his way. "Some of it's good. Seeing you – all wide eyed and schoolboy innocent."

The brunette huffed again while his brother smirked. "Jerk."

"Bitch. Seeing Bobby again." The drop of that smile, that smugness, was so instantaneous it almost took Sam's breath away. He recognized what his brother was doing suddenly. Dean had a hard time trusting people, and a harder time talking when it wasn't bravado. When the older Winchester finally faced both, it was a one-shot rush sort of thing. No time to pause, no time to think or change his mind.

It sobered Sam as quickly as it had quieted Dean, and he stared at his brother, the words registering slowly in his already full mind.

"When?"

Dean shook his head. "Not for a long time. Tough old bastard makes it through the apocalypse."

His brother shot him a grin, though he could see the bitter sadness behind it. Others that they knew weren't going to have the same fortune. Like their dad. Sam looked away. "As long as we don't change it."

Dean sucked in a breath of his own, air taken from his lungs like a punch to the diaphragm. He refocused on the road and ignored the creak of Baby's leather beneath his white-knuckled grip. "Right. As long as we don't change it."

-o-o-o-

"Did this happen last time?" Sam asked out of nowhere, several hours of silence between them and the last bout of rapid-fire questions he'd had for his brother. It was late – or early, depending on perspective – and the roads were empty and quiet.

"Did what happen? The kid?"

"My vision of him."

"Yeah. You saw the dad gassed in the garage," Dean answered, thinking back on what had been happening prior to them showing up on the Miller's front steps. "I was sure it wasn't real; just a nightmare. Guess I didn't want it to be real.""

"This was the first one I told you about?"

"No," Dean shook his head, "just the first one that wasn't about you. Jess, the old house; those had direct lines to you. I couldn't figure out why you'd be getting visions of some random dude in Michigan."

Sam was quiet for a moment as he digested that. Truth be told, he hadn't stopped to wonder. It had been a vision, as painful and disjointed as all the others. Well, maybe this one was less painful. His head had hurt, but he hadn't had the full migraine like the others gave him.

"Why am I dreaming of Jim Miller?"

Dean clenched his jaw for a moment, muscles along his neck flexing with the movement. Sam wondered for a moment if he'd lie again, or just not answer. But it only took a moment for his brother to respond, "Because Max is one of Azazel's kids. You're all connected, and you're gonna keep getting visions of 'em. All of 'em."

"How many more are there?"

The blonde shook his head. "Honestly? We never did a headcount. I know of about a dozen."

Sam sat in silence for a moment, wanting to ask the next question but really not wanting to know the answer. He'd heard enough terrible things for one night. "What happens to them?"

When they'd covered the apocalypse, Dean had rather glossed over the details he knew would hit his brother hardest. At least, he'd skipped the ones he could get away with, knowing they'd come back around eventually. He'd hoped to give the kid at least a couple hours respite between bad bouts of news, though.

"Azazel pits you all against one another in a Battle Royale," he answered honestly in one long breath. "The idea being the winner takes Lucifer to the Prom."

Sam frowned immediately. "I thought you said I was destined to do that from the start."

"You are. We both are." Dean switched on the wiper blades as rain started splattering down from the sky. "Problem with prophecies is they're not all that specific, and Hell wasn't taking chances. So that yellow eyed bastard found as many kids as he could. Up their odds of finding the right one, I guess."

The younger Winchester didn't have any more questions after that, fists slowly clenching against his thighs as he added a dozen more tallies to the list of lives he would be responsible for in the upcoming years.

-o-o-o-

It wasn't long after the sun came up that Dean's phone rang. They were outside Lansing, only an hour from Max Miller's home address. The older hunter glanced at the small screen listing the calling number, a curious frown on his face as he flipped it open.

So not Bobby then.

"Hello?" There was nothing but silence for Sam's part. Whoever was answering on the other line was soft-spoken enough that he couldn't catch anything from the tinny whispers. But by the way his brother's shoulders went rigid and his eyes wide and unfocused, recalling a long-ago memory, Sam was instantly alert.

"I'm sorry, Cassie, I can't."

The younger Winchester tilted his head at the name and it's similarity to the angel Dean had spoken of before. He immediately dismissed it given his brother's distant expression. This clearly wasn't the same person.

"My brother and I…we're, uh…we're on something we can't put off. But I'll…" Dean cleared his throat, running a hand over his mouth. His brother watched him curiously, having rarely seen his brother flustered before. And never by some civilian. "I'll send another hunter your way. He's the best."

The voice on the other line got even fainter.

"It's not about that, Cas-Cassie." Dean responded softy, gaze lowering to his lap. "I swear, I'd come if I could. But I'm sending you the best. He'll stop whatever's going on. I promise."

There were barely other words exchanged before the man from the future slipped the phone shut. He kept his eyes on the road, refusing to so much as look at his questioning brother. When Sam tried asking, Dean shrugged it off, naming the mysterious caller an old friend who had a case for them. With that, he pulled his phone back open and dialed Bobby to fill him in on the details, of which Dean, of course, knew everything.

-o-o-o-

"I get that Max is important. I want to save him and his family," Sam spoke up several miles later, "but this friend-"

"Don't worry about it, Sammy," his brother answered immediately, eyes still on the road. "It's a ghost running people off the road. Nothing Bobby can't handle. He even knows where to find the object it's tied to. Doesn't get easier than that."

And boy, was it nice to finally be able to openly use that future knowledge he had in hunts. He was damn tired of tiptoeing around cases he could wrap up in an hour with what he knew.

Sam didn't have a counter argument his brother would accept, so he fell silent for several more miles. "I didn't know you had female friends."

Dean finally looked at him, though it was hardly friendly.

"I have tons of female friends," he replied defensively, opening his mouth to continue only to falter. His gaze darted back to the road and he cleared his throat. "Just none we've met yet."

Sam chuckled at that. He watched his brother for another moment longer. "Were you close?"

Dean licked his lips, gaze darting to his side mirror to avoid looking at his brother. Thoughts of that beautiful young woman waiting for him to show up, to reconcile their terrible ending, filled his head. He'd never forgotten Cassie, and the minute he'd heard her voice, he'd recognized it. She was his first real love. But that was a long time ago now and the apocalypse was more important. Bobby could help Cassie, and Dean's reconciliation could take a back-seat to saving his brother.

"It's in the past, Sam. Has been for a long time for me."

"Okay," Sam replied softly, hearing more than his brother meant to say, but understanding. After all, the words he'd shared with Jess only hours ago were still ringing in his own mind.

-o-o-o-

Three blocks away from the Miller house, Dean pulled into a gas station, climbed out of the Impala and headed for the trunk. Sam followed, brow furled curiously. They still had half a tank from the stop in Rochester.

He caught the haphazardly thrown bundle of clothing from his brother and stared down in surprise at a suit, tie, and white dress shirt. He raised an eyebrow in Dean's direction.

"Feds get a lot further than repairmen."

Sam's mouth dropped open in surprise as Dean chucked something else at him that he caught on instinct. It was a badge – a really good fake – that read Federal Bureau of Investigation. He almost dropped it.

"Impersonating repair guys and wildlife services is one thing, but FBI?" He stared at his brother in open shock. "Dean, that's a felony!"

The man from the future just shrugged, heading for the gas station's attached restrooms. Sam followed after him, surprise still coloring his features. This was clearly not the first time his brother had done this. Not to mention the badge job was top-notch, something that only came with experience. He must have anticipated Sam would need one as well, considering he had purchased a suit in the younger Winchester's size.

"How many times have you impersonated a fed?"

"FBI, CIA, Homeland Security. Whatever, man. It's all the same; I lost track years ago."

Sam just kept staring, even after his brother ducked inside the restroom to change into a suit he never imagined his brother would wear so comfortably.

-o-o-o-

They pulled up to the curb outside of the Miller house after one of the longest drives Dean could ever remember. Sam was roller-coastering between melancholy and fierce curiosity. Not that he could blame the kid. It was a dump of downright unpleasant information Dean had given him.

Sam had always been a good man – one of the best Dean had ever known. It nearly killed the kid the first time he learned what he had unleashed on the world. That time, though, he'd had spiraling emotions, condemnation from his father, and abandonment by his brother to blame it on, to help explain why he'd done what he did, made the choices he made. To help him rationalize, accept, and fix it. This time it was just a man from the future, guaranteeing he'd make the mistakes that would try to end the world, with no real proof or reason why.

And this Sam, without Jess's death, without Dean's death, had no context. There was no way he could ever accept, could even understand, how he could ever be driven to do such a thing.

Dean wanted to believe that he wouldn't. He wanted to tell his kid brother that they'd stop it, that he was already off the path. But the man from the future knew this wasn't actually about him or Sam. Hell would never let them leave that road, and neither would Heaven. Each side was tenacious, cruel in the lengths they would go in their pursuit, and had the time and resources to force the Winchester's hands. They would find a way to turn his brother, of that he had no doubt.

It wasn't Sam he didn't trust with the coming Apocalypse. It was Hell, which he knew all too well.

"It looks pretty calm," Sam spoke up beside him, pulling his attention back to the suburban street they sat parked along. Sam had his head turned out the passenger window, staring at the house that looked so normal. Uneventful. "Maybe it hasn't happened yet."

"Maybe," Dean replied distantly, leaning over in his seat to stare at the innocuous house as well. "Only one way to find out."

"Do you know what's going to happen?" Sam asked before his brother could open the door.

Dean shrugged, still watching the house. "I don't remember much about the details. He killed his dad in the garage, think he went after his stepmom with a knife."

"And we stopped him?"

His brother didn't answer right away, thinking back to that floating knife, to his floating gun, and his brother pleading with a child who shared blood with him in all of the worst ways. He sighed, closing his eyes as he remembered how that confrontation had ended. "He killed himself. But the stepmom lived."

Sam was staring at him when he opened his eyes again.

"Can we change it? Can we save him?"

Dean straightened, broken arm reaching for the handle and pushing open the driver's side door with a squeak of metal. "Only one way to find out."

-o-o-o-

Max opened the door to two men in monkey suits who held up badges for him to glance at before flipping them closed and listing their names as Agents Simmons and Freely. The one that did all the talking seemed confident and in charge. Max immediately disliked him. His partner though was young, probably his own age if he had to guess, and couldn't figure out where to put his hands. Probably new to the job. Max didn't like him much either.

"Can I help you?"

"Yeah, kid. We'd like to have a word with you," the older replied, giving his partner a measured look that made the man finally settle his arms by his sides. Max stared unimpressed at them.

"About what?"

Agent Simmons opened his mouth to reply but was cut off by Max's father appearing over his shoulder, staring at the two suited men on his front steps. "What's this about?"

"Jim Miller?" The younger one asked, eyes wide in surprise and slight awe. Max frowned and immediately liked him even less.

His partner cast another warning look his way. Then he pulled out his badge once more, holding it up for Max's father. "FBI, sir. We just need to speak with your son."

"What have you done now?" his father growled down at him. Max tried to hide the flinch, but he knew he'd failed when both FBI agents straightened.

"Nothing," Max answered back through clenched teeth.

"He hasn't done anything wrong, sir," the younger agent said quickly, compassion in his eyes that made Max want to hit him.

"We think he may have witnessed a crime," the older partner added fluidly. "Witnesses placed your son and his friends near the scene of a burglary up on State and Center two days ago. We're just hoping Max might have seen something that could help us out."

Max's head shot forward with the hard slap that his father delivered to the back of his skull.

"What did I tell you about hanging out with those friends of yours, boy? Bunch of no-good low lives!"

Max grit his teeth, hand clenching into a fist as he straightened back up. It took all the strength he had to keep his breathing steady, to keep his hand from shooting out and strangling his father with those gifts he'd been given. He'd been practicing, like the yellow eyed man said, and he knew he could do it.

"That's enough!" The younger agent took a step forward, catching his father's wrist before he could deliver a second blow. His hazel eyes were fierce and locked on Max's father.

The older agent cleared his throat, but his gaze was reprimanding as well. "I think we'll speak to Max in private."

Max released the tension in his muscles and felt the vibration beneath his skin fade away as he did. Not now. Not in front of feds. He would kill his father, as he'd promised himself he would. He'd do it tonight, as planned, in the garage, where he could make it look like a suicide. Then no one would suspect a thing and he could finally be free of the bastard.

"Max?" The younger agent was holding his arm out, gesturing for him to walk down the drive towards the street. He straightened and pushed past both agents, not bothering to look back at his fuming father.

-o-o-o-

"Okay, who the hell are you guys?" The kid spun around as soon as they were by the curb, far enough away from the house for some privacy. "I wasn't anywhere near State and Center two days ago."

"We know," Sam answered, hands raised in placation.

"Just needed to get you away from douche-dad of the year," Dean added, dropping the fed persona as easily as he would later shed the monkey suit.

Max watched them through narrowed eyes, suspicion clear. "Why?"

"Because we really do need to talk," the younger Winchester supplied.

"About what?"

"You, kid. And your abilities." Dean kept his body language fairly open even as Max's immediately tensed and shut down. There was a moment of tense, deadly silence between them before the kid's hand shot out.

Dean got out half a curse, hand going for his gun even as it slipped from his hip and flew into the air between them. Max's outstretched hand almost touched the butt of the gun as it levitated in the middle of the three men, aimed pointedly at Dean.

"Whoa, whoa!" Sam made an aborted move forward, stopping when the weapon swung in his direction. He glanced around quickly, surveying the quiet suburban street for both witnesses and collateral. "It's okay, Max. I have them too."

The look on the kids face clearly said that was the last thing he'd expected to hear. His hand wavered for a moment, and the gun shook before steadying in the air once more. "What?"

"Not exactly like yours," Sam kept going, hands still raised. "I get these visions-"

"What sort of visions?"

"Death premonitions," Dean supplied, still eyeing his own gun still trained on his brother.

Max pulled a face, switching between the two brothers. "That's crazy."

Dean snorted, then immediately pulled a straight face when the gun jerked back towards him. He raised his hands as well, following his brother's lead. "Says the guy currently Harry Houdini-ing a gun."

"Max." Sam pushed his hands forward calmingly, catching the kid's attention. He was using the soft, puppydog voice he only used with victims, that one he'd eventually grow out of. "We just want to talk. We think they're connected – your powers, my visions. I think they come from the same place."

"The yellow eyed man," Max mumbled, eyes still darting between the two.

"You've seen him?" Sam lowered his hands, eyebrows raised. If Azazel had been messing with Max too then they'd have to protect him. Maybe they could make another deal, or lure the bastard into a trap and kill him once and for all.

"He comes to me in dreams," the kid answered, eyes focused on the younger Winchester. "Tells me…"

"What's he tell you, kid?"

Max's gaze flickered to Dean but when he spoke, he addressed Sam. "Did you have a vision of me? Am I going to die?"

"No, you're not-"

"He had a vision of your dad," Dean interrupted. They needed to cut to the chase here, not smother the kid with pity. Or answer that question honestly. "Dead, in the garage, because you killed him."

"What…" The kid's face scrunched up in confusion, and then flattened out in realization. "Are you here to stop me?"

Given the incredulous tone, they weren't likely to talk him down from that murderous ledge as easily as they'd assumed.

"Max-"

"You saw him back there!" he cut Sam off before the hunter could even get started. "You think that's bad? That's not even the tip of the iceberg."

"Max, I know you've had it rough-"

"Rough?" The psychic's face reddened, his glower darkening with rage. Dean's eyes darted down to Max's free hand, fisting by his side, and the one splayed out in front of him controlling his gun. Both were shaking, and the gun trembled in the air to match. Man, he'd really hoped to get out of this situation without getting shot.

"You can't kill your parents," he retorted sharply, calling the kid's attention back to him and off of his brother. "No matter how much they deserve it."

"Why not?" Max rebuked, staring him down with the resolve of a kid who'd already accepted the consequence and made his decision regardless. "Who's gonna stop me? You?"

Dean pulled his shoulders back, staring down the little shit with resolve of his own. "If I have to."

"Okay, everyone calm down," Sam interrupted, stepping between them and coming almost abreast to the floating gun. At least anyone passing on the street behind them wouldn't see the levitating weapon anymore. "Max, we can help you."

"I don't need help. I'm strong now." Despite the watery sheen to his eyes, the kid stood tall and Sam faltered as he realized that talking him down might not even be an option anymore. "The yellow eyed man was right; I can make sure they never hurt me again."

"We'll get your parents locked away," Sam tried again, only to have Max once more cut him off.

"That's not good enough!"

"Really?" Dean laughed, bringing the kids anger his way once more. "Have you seen your father? He's not gonna do well in prison, kid. He'll get what he deserves."

"They deserve to die!"

Sam's shoulders slouched slightly as he stared at the kid no older than he was, who'd obviously had just as shitty a childhood, if not far worse. John had never touched him – not bad enough to qualify as abuse. No, his weapon of choice hadn't been fists; it had been neglect and disappointment.

"That's how you get revenge?" Dean scoffed, the condescension in his voice clear as day.

"Yes!"

"Why?" Dean took a step forward, towards the gun and the kid. Sam's train of thought shifted to whether or not his idiot of an older brother was under the delusion that he was bullet proof. "They won't even know it was you. They'll just die, never having to own up to anything they did wrong. Never knowing you were the one that put them in their place."

"Dean…" Sam tried to caution his brother, concern seriously mounting. But Max just took a step back. His posture faltered as he stared at the older man with something broken in his expression. The gun lowered an inch, and it was obvious the kid's focus was no longer on it. "Let us help you, Max. We'll get your parents arrested. We can get you help."

"You mean a shrink," the kid answered back, but the anger was gone from his voice, replaced with bitterness. "Been there. I think I can handle myself."

The gun clattered to the sidewalk as Max turned and headed back up the drive without another word.

Sam let out a long sigh, rubbing his hands down his face. Dean bent over, scooping up the gun and checking the ivory hilt and cartridge for damage. He tucked it back into his hip holster, safely hidden away by the front flap of his suit jacket. Sam watched him do all of it so mechanically, rote motion par for the course.

Dean caught the look and frowned at him. "What?"

Sam shook his head and turned towards the Impala, parked a couple feet further down the street.

"The kid wants to stick it to his parents," Dean defended himself as he followed after his younger brother. "I figured pointing out the flaw in his plan might stop him."

"Oh, yeah, he totally seems stable now." Sam wrenched open the side door as Dean moved around to the passenger side. "Nice work."

"Shut up," Dean muttered, ducking into the Impala. "It worked, didn't it?"

-o-o-o-

Bobby clucked his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he sat in the Robinson's parlor, shotgun resting against the edge of the couch, tea untouched on the coffee table, and lighter tucked in his breast pocket, still warm from going Son of Sam on a racist truck.

"So..." He bobbed his head absently at the mother daughter duo sitting across from him just as awkwardly. "You and Dean, huh?"

Cassie shot him a dark glower as Mrs. Robinson glanced between the two of them, eyebrows raised and motherly interest clearly peaked.