Nightmare
I wake up from a loud gasp somewhere to my right, followed by heavy breathing. I slowly lift my head. My heart is in my throat and I don't know why. I feel uneasy. "Sam?" I know it's Sam, even before my eyes get used to the dark and see him. "Yeah." Is his short answer. He's out of breath and clearly covered in sweat. "You okay?" I slowly sit up, trying to push the pit in my stomach back down. "Uh…" He doesn't answer. He seems lost in thought for a few seconds, his face confused. That then quickly changes into determination. "Get up, we have to go." He dashes out of bed. "We have to go." I nod, rolling myself off the couch. For some reason, that makes a lot of sense to me.
"Dean." Sam turns on the light next to his nightstand. "Dean!" He slaps at Dean's arm, which is hanging off the other bed. Dean grunts loudly, even sounding irritated while still asleep. Sam's at his bag and packing it within seconds. I hastily look around for mine. It's near the bathroom door, where I left it last night after my shower. "What are you two doing? It's the middle of the night!" Dean's slowly waking up and not looking very happy about it. His voice is groggy and he leans up on his elbows, eyes still closed. "We have to go." I tell him, grabbing my jeans and pulling them on. "What's happening?" Dean's voice goes from sleepy to serious in a second. "We have to go! Right now!" Sam hushes at him, hurrying into the bathroom. Dean throws me a very confused look. "I don't know, but he's right. We need to go, now! He'll explain soon." I tell Dean, pulling on my hoody and stepping into my boots. "Damnit." Dean quickly rolls out of his bed and starts to pack. He seems irritated by it, but doesn't question it for now.
We're in the impala after only thirty minutes. Our bags packed and in the trunk. Dean racing down the highway with clenched jaws. Sam on his phone. He has only told us vaguely what he saw in his dream. A dude, a cop, somewhere in Michigan, dying in his car. Committing suicide, but not real suicide. Or something…
After that explanation, he started scribbling on a piece of paper and then grabbed his phone. "McReady. Detective McReady. Badge number 158. I've got a signal 480 in progress, I need the registered owner of a two door sedan, Michigan license plate Mary-Frank-six-zero-three-seven…" I listen to him talk, wondering what he could have seen that was so important and who he has on the phone right now. His nightmare was clearly one of those that come true sometimes, with someone in danger. Just like the one he had about that woman in our old house. "Yeah, okay. Just hurry." With that, Sam leans his head against the window, letting out a deep breath. He's extremely worried, I can feel it. Dean interferes as soon as Sam stops talking. "Sammy, relax. I'm sure it was just a nightmare." He tries to sound reassuring. "Yeah, tell me about it." Is Sam's dry, sarcastic answer. "Well, I mean it, you know. A- A normal, everyday, naked-in-class nightmare." Dean continues. "Dean, he's had these dreams before…" I start to defend Sam, but Dean's angry glare tells me to drop it. "No, it was a normal nightmare. This license plate, it won't check out. You'll both see." He turns his eyes back to his brother. "It felt different, Dean. Real. Like when I dreamt about our old house. And Jessica." Sam tells him defensively. "That's because it is real." I state, rolling my eyes when I receive a second angry glare through the review mirror. "You can glare at me all you want, Dean. That license plate will check out, cause this dream was real. Just like the last one." I point out. Dean lets out a groan. "How the hell would you know." He asks me angrily. "She can feel it, just like me." Sam answers that for me. "Look, it makes sense that those other dreams felt real, okay? You dreamt about our house, your girlfriend. This guy in your dream, you ever seen him before?" Dean ignores that statement and glances at Sam. "No." Sam answers. "No, exactly. Why would you have premonitions about some random dude in Michigan." Dean sounds like he believes that argument should blow away anything Sam's feeling. "I don't know." Sam confesses to him in frustration. "Me neither." Dean mumbles, focusing his eyes back on the road.
The person Sam's calling gets back to him. Sam's head flashes to the right. "Yes, I'm here." He listens to the other person on the line. His eyes grow a little wide, he throws Dean a look and then grabs his pen. "Jim Miller. Saginaw, Michigan. You have a street address..? Got it, thanks." He hangs up. "Told you." I whisper, glancing at the concerned look on Dean's face. Sam lets out a sigh. "It checks out." He mutters. I lean forward, glancing at the dashboard. "How far are we from Michigan?" I ask Dean. He clenches his jaws. "From Michigan about an hour…" He can't even finish his sentence, before Sam interrupts him. "How far from Saginaw?" Dean grabs the steering wheel tighter. "A couple hours." He answers. Sam looks at the road, giving a small nod. "Drive faster." He orders. Dean presses his foot down on the gas and I can feel the car speeding up. "We'll get there in time." I try to reassure Sam. He gives me a short shake of his head. "What if we don't?" He looks scared. His worry changed into fear when that license plate checked out. "Well, we couldn't really go any faster than this, right?" I reassure him softly, reaching my hand out and grabbing his shoulder. "You felt it, didn't you?" Sam changes the subject, grabbing my hand in his for a second. "Yes." I confess to him, my own fear coming out for a second. "What did you feel?" Dean asks me, his jaws still clenched. "I don't, uh, really know how to explain it. I just woke up, at the exact same time as he did. And, when he said we had to go… I just knew we had to go." I glance down, knowing how crazy that must sound. Dean lets out a sigh. "Great. That's just wonderful. My brother's having premonitions and my little sister is basically a psychic about it." He groans and throws his head against his seat. Sam and I both fall silent and I lean backwards, crossing my arms.
Exactly three hours later, we arrive at the address that Sam got from that phone call. Sadly, our worries about not making it in time, come true. About three police cars are surrounding the house and cops are everywhere. Near the open garage of the house we've arrived at, a body lies on a stretcher and the coroner is busy covering it up. Dean parks the car and we all stare at the scene in silene. The sphere in the car saddens and Sam gives a short shake of his head. We weren't on time, the man died.
Dean slowly glances at Sam, the look of concern on his face growing. "Come on." He beckons us to follow him, stepping out of the car. There's a small crowd of people standing by the road, across from the house, all looking at the crime scene. Some are just interested, others are sad and grieving. We stand with them and Dean's the first to initiate contact. "What happened?" He asks a woman standing in front of us. "Suicide… I can't believe it." She mutters, sadly shaking her head. Dean throws us a knowing look. We all know it wasn't a suicide, it was meant to look like a suicide. Something did this to this poor man. At least, that's what Sam dreamt about.
"Did you know him, Ma'am?" I step a little closer, leaning into Sam. "I saw him every Sunday at Saint Augustine's. He always seems…" She huffs, correcting herself. "Seemed, so normal. Guess you never know what's going on behind closed doors." She concludes, glancing back at the crime scene. "Guess not." Dean mutters, his jaws clenching. "How did uh… how are they saying it happened?" Sam asks, glancing back at the woman. "I heard they found him in the garage. Locked inside his car with the engine running." The woman explains exactly what Sam dreamt about and my palms start to get a little sweaty. This is all getting a little too real. Dean's caught on as well. He gives Sam a stern look. "Do you know what time they found him?" Is Sam's next question. "Well, it just happened about an hour or two ago." The woman sighs, clutching her chest. "This poor family." She shakes her head. "I can't even imagine what they're going through." She glances at the front door, where a woman is talking to the cops, having completely broken down. His wife, no doubt. Behind her, is a boy. Standing there, just looking lost. Probably just lost his father, by the looks of it.
When I glance up at Sam, his eyes are glossed over and he's clearly frustrated. We didn't get here in time. He sharply inhales, before stepping back and marching away from the crowd. I throw Dean a worried glance. "Come on." He softly whispers to me, grabbing my arm. We both follow Sam, who's leaning on the hood of the impala with his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Sam, we got here as fast as we could." Dean mutters, taking place next to him. "Not fast enough." Is Sam's short reply. "Sam, we couldn't go any faster. Two hours ago, Dean was still racing down the road." I try to sound as reassuring as I can. Sam ignores me, glancing down. "It just doesn't make any sense… Why would I even have these premonitions, unless there was a chance that I could stop them from happening." He confesses, glancing at Dean. "I don't know." Dean answers honestly, his eyes fixated on the police cars in front of us. Sam's eyes drop to the ground and he lets out a deep sigh. I slowly lean my head against his arm, trying to give him a little comfort. "What do you think killed him?" Sam ignores my attempt, glancing back up at Dean after having asked that question. "Maybe the guy killed himself… maybe there's nothing supernatural going on at all." Dean slowly answers, as he keeps looking at the scene in front of us. I scoff, shaking my head. "He didn't…" I start softly. Sam, seeming glad by my comfort now, inhales deeply. "I'm telling you, Dean. I watched it happen. He was murdered by something, it trapped him in the garage." Dean is starting to get irritated. "Like what? A spirit? A poltergeist? What?" His voices rises slightly. "I don't know what it was." Sam says, his body tensing up. "I don't know why I'm having the dreams. I don't know what's happening, Dean." Dean glances at him, his eyes filled with worry and he stays silent. "What?" Sam huffs. "Nothing, man. I'm just… I'm worried about you." Dean confesses, his tone softening. "Well, that makes two of us." I mumble. Sam shakes me off his side after I said those words. "Well, don't look at me like that. Both of you." His tone is defending, like we're attacking him. "I'm not looking at you like anything." Dean tells him with a short shake of his head. "Though I gotta say, you look like crap." He then adds and once again I see the worry in his eyes. "Nice, thanks." Sam's clearly very annoyed. "Yeah, well… Come on, let's just pick this up in the morning, all right?" Dean stands and marches towards the front of the impala, grabbing the door handle. "We'll check out the house, we'll talk to the family." He finishes, pulling open the door. I follow his example and jump off the hood of the car, stifling a yawn. "Dean, you saw them. They're devastated, they're not gonna wanna talk to us." Sam fairly points out as he keeps his place on the hood of the car. "He might be right on that one." I point out, clamping my hand on my mouth to suppress another yawn coming up. "Okay, get your ass in the car." Dean tells me, pointing to the back of the car with a stern glance. "I have an idea on who they'll talk to, Sam. Come on." Dean takes his place in the front seat and I follow him, crawling into the back. Sam stays on the hood, clearly confused about Dean's last statement. "Sam, come on." Dean yells impatiently. Sam rises and climbs into the passengers seat reluctantly. "Who, Dean? Who do they want to talk to?" He asks, fastening his seatbelt. Dean starts the car, a slight grin appearing on his face. "I think when two priests are standing in front of their door, they'll let us in no doubt." He explains, driving off. I huff, glancing out the window to watch the crime scene disappear around the corner. "Seriously?" Sam asks incredulously. "If you have a better idea, I'm all ears." Dean retorts in annoyance. "Well, I do. How about a priest and his female colleague?" I mutter, catching my brother's glance through the review mirror. "Really? You wanna join in on this one?" Dean asks in surprise. "Listen, you saw that woman just now, right? The wife? She's more likely to talk to me then both of you combined." I state drily. This causes Sam to look back at me with a frown. "And how is that?" He asks drily. "Cause I'm a woman, dummy." I answer shortly. Dean lets out an annoyed huff, whereas Sam's eyebrows raise even higher. "And that matters how?" He asks. "It's literally scientifically proven that women who went through recent trauma will be more comfortable around another caring woman, Sam." I give him the facts and Dean actually barks out a laugh. "Are you doing research on how to wiggle yourself into these cases?" He directly asks me, a large grin appearing on his face. "Maybe…" I divert my eyes to the window, not able to stop my own grin. "Scientifically proven, huh." Even Sam, who's sad features have been there since he woke up a few hours ago, lightens up a little and he shakes his head. "Well, if it's scientifically proven, maybe you should just go by yourself. One female will be even less threatening." I ignore my fastening heartbeat and nonchalantly shrug. "I mean, sure." I try to sound as confident as I can. Dean barks out another laugh. "Yeah, not happening." He chuckles. Sam also lets out a dry chuckle, before becoming serious again. "I'll take you with me, we'll see if we can figure out what happened to him." He concludes. I nod shortly, pressing back the triumphant smile that is about to spread across my face. I knew facts would work best on Sam and I mentally thank the scientific article that I accidentally stumbled upon. Dean doesn't argue with the new plan, but his grimace stays on his face until we enter a motel and I've slipped into the bathroom.
I can hear Sam and Dean softly speaking as I take a shower and change into my sweatpants. The conversation stops when I walk back out, tying my hair into a knot. "You need any help with science, Skye?" Sam offers, filling up the uncomfortable silence. "Nah, I think I got that down." I tell him, shrugging on Dean's hoodie. "I am eventually gonna need my clothes back, pup." Dean teases as he watches me. "Nah." I repeat with a grin, pulling the hood over my damp hair. "You have your own sweaters, you know that right?" He points out to me. "Yeah, I know." I state, flashing him a smile and letting myself drop on the couch. "Why don't you wear his crap? I mean, I'm sure he has multiple sweaters you can steal." Dean nudges his head to Sam. "I can literally swim in his." I retort, grinning when I see Sam let out a fake gasp. "You calling me fat?" He cries out dramatically. Dean bursts out in laughter as I throw up my hands, shaking my head frantically. "No, no, you're just too buff. I mean, with muscles that big…" Sam grins widely as Dean rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. That's enough now." He huffs, grabbing a pillow of the couch and smashing it at Sam. "And get that proud grin off your damn face, Sammy." He adds with playful annoyance. "You're just jealous Skye thinks I'm stronger then you." Sam chuckles, throwing the pillow that just hit him in the face, back to Dean. "I never said that!" I giggle, sinking further into the cushions. The sofa isn't as uncomfortable as a motel sofa can be, which is a plus. "But you do think that, right honey?" Sam won't let it go and now both my brothers are looking at me intently. "Oh, I'm not answering that. That's one dangerous road I would like to avoid." I laugh, reaching for my bag and dragging it towards me. "Ahh, c'me on, pup. We both know it's me, right?" Dean presses on, taking a sip of his beer with twinkling eyes. "Nuhuh, not going down that road." I repeat, but when Sam has stood up to go and grab his laptop, I give him a wink that satisfies him anyways. It has always been him, it will always be him. There's some kind of power that comes with being the oldest brother that he'll always possess.
Dean drinks his beer in silence, glancing at Sam once in a while. Sam's seated at the table, furiously typing away on his laptop. He looks exhausted, but both Dean and me know better than to tell him to go to bed. Dean does eventually tell me to go and get a few hours in, morning light already starting to make its way through the motel windows. I end up falling asleep right there on the couch, listening to Sam's typing and Dean's slow breathing.
I wake up in one of the beds a few hours later. The sun is shining brightly into the room and was probably the reason for waking me. My head feels heavy, a familiar feeling. Sam's still at the table and looks like he hasn't moved. "Hey." I groggily sit up, glancing to the bed next to me. Dean's fast asleep under the covers, just his head poking out. "Morning. Or midday, really." Sam answers me with a short shake of my head. "Yeah." I slowly get out of the bed and stumble towards my bag. "Sam, what should I wear as a female priest? Wait, do female priests even exist?" I wonder out loud, only now realizing I've only ever seen male priests. Sam chuckles slowly. "Well, they are uncommon, but I think it is possible, yes." He answers me shortly. "Maybe it's a better idea if I pose as your secretary?" I loathe the words coming out of my mouth, but this is the world we live in. Sam frowns. "I don't think it's common for secretaries to go on house visits." He drily comments. "Hmm…" I glance down at my bag. "Maybe a grief counselor?" Is my next suggestion and Sam perks up at that idea. "That might work, that'll even make them more likely to talk to you." He nods and I get to work dressing myself up as a grief counselor, meaning I'm wearing pretty much normal clothes. However, no biker jacket or any of my black sweaters. When I enter from the bathroom, Sam's already wearing a literal priest outfit. All black, with some kind of white piece in the collar. "How do you even have…" I don't finish my sentence, too stunned to speak. "We have had to wear these once before in a case some years back, they were still in the trunk." Sam answers me shortly, reaching for Dean's jacket and searching the pockets for the keys to the impala. He looks uncomfortable. "Of course you did." I muttered sarcastically. "Come on, let's find out what happened." Sam dangles the keys in his hand, beckoning me to follow him. I glance back at the bed where Dean still seems to be sound asleep. Good, he'll get some more in while we fix this.
Sam drives us back to the address we were racing to last night. We now know the name of the family that lost someone, the Millers. When we arrive, the police cars are all gone and a quietness has settled around the house. No more staring neighbors and whispers of suicide. Sam leads us towards the front door and softly pushes on the doorbell. He still looks highly uncomfortable. "This has got to be a new low." He mutters to himself. I grin, shaking my head. What gets the job done, gets the job done. A short, bald man answers the door, his friendly eyes standing sad as he looks at Sam expectantly. "Hi, good afternoon, sir. I'm father Frehley, a new junior priest from over at St Augustine's and this is miss Roval, our junior grief counselor. May we come in?" Sam tries his best to sound kind as he introduces us and I try to look serious and sad. The man nods shortly, taking a step back and opening the door further. "Thank you." Sam steps inside. "We're very sorry for your loss." I mutter to the man, following Sam into the house. Sam turns around to the man and is about to start talking, when the man lifts up his hands. "Look, if you wanna pitch your whole 'lord has a plan' thing, fine. But don't pitch it to me, my brother is dead." He announces, sounding slightly annoyed. I'm about to open my mouth to retaliate, when a soft voice from behind me takes that chance away. "Roger, please…" When I turn around, I see a very sad looking woman stand in the doorway towards the living room, looking at the man in front of us disapprovingly. That must be Mrs. Miller. Roger lets out a deep sigh, but slowly nods his head. "Excuse me." He mutters and before I can stop him or say anything else, he has walked away. Mrs. Miller approaches us, she has a big tray of leftovers in her hands and looks quite disoriented, even though this is her own home. "I'm sorry about my brother in law, he's…" She doesn't seem sure how to describe it. "He's just so upset about Jim's death." She finishes, glancing down. "That's okay, nothing to worry about, ma'am. Everyone grieves in their own ways." I tell her soothingly, taking my role as grief counselor very serious. Mrs. Miller diverts her eyes to me and does seem a little confused. "This is our junior grief counselor, ma'am. I thought it wise to bring her with me." Sam quickly re-introduces me. "Ah." Mrs. Miller gives me a shaky smile and actually seems relieved. "Oh, that's very kind of you. Would you, uh, like some coffee?" I can see that her hands are trembling, she must be so overwhelmed by everything. "That would be great, thank you." Sam accepts that offer and she leads us towards the kitchen and through a lot of other people who have come to pay their respects. Family and friends, I presume.
We sit down on the sofas in the rather empty living room and soon Mrs. Miller comes back with a tray of coffee. "It is wonderful of you to stop by. The support of the church means so much right now." She tells Sam gratefully as she hands him a very hot cup of coffee. "Of course." He tells her kindly. I accept my cup and watch her sit down next to Sam on the opposite sofa, looking at him expectantly. Sam awkwardly scrapes his throat. "Uh, so, Mrs. Miller, did your husband uh, did he ever talk about feeling depressed? Or have a history of depression?" He then asks. Mrs. Miller quickly shakes her head. "Oh, no, nothing like that. We uh, had our ups and downs, like everyone, but we were happy…" The more Mrs. Miller speaks, the sadder she becomes and soon her eyes start tearing up. Sam respectfully stays quiet and lets her talk, while I lean forward. "I just don't understand h-how, how Jim could d-do something…" Her voice falters and she brings her hand to her face, her eyes spilling over. She looks so lost. "I'm so sorry that this happened to you, Mrs. Miller, and that you had to find him like that." I softly tell her. She glances at me and shortly shakes her head. "A-Actually, our son Max, he was the one who found him." She corrects me, motioning towards the kitchen. I follow her gaze and spot a teenage boy sitting in the kitchen on a chair, his arms crossed, head down and awkwardly glancing around. Sam has also spotted him and he slowly leans forward. "Do you mind if uh, maybe, I go talk to him?" He asks Mrs. Miller, who's face breaks out in relief. "Oh, thank you, father." She whispers back softly. My mouth falls slightly open when Sam actually stands up, he's fully on planning to leave me here with Mrs. Miller. On my own. And I don't even know what else I need to ask her, or what information I need of her. Sam doesn't look at me as he ventures into the kitchen towards the kid, who I'm sure could be about my age. Damnit. I glance back at Mrs. Miller, who is just staring at the space in front of her with tears spilling out of her eyes. I spot a box of tissues to my right and decide to just continue, I'll just wing it and see what happens.
"Here you go, Mrs. Miller." I offer her a tissue and she takes it, sniffling. "Can you think of any reason why your husband would take his own life, Mrs. Miller? I apologize for asking so abruptly, but part of the grieving process is trying to understand what happened." I explain to her as she glances at me. She instantly spills over again and nods frantically, telling me all she has been thinking about is what could have possibly made her husband kill himself, what it was she apparently missed. I comfort her and glance around the room, wrecking my brain for a useful question I need to ask her. I need to know what she, or her husband might have seen that could connect to the thing that Sam claimed killed her husband and made it look like a suicide…
My head snaps back to Mrs. Miller, who's drying her eyes with the tissue I gave her. "Did your husband tell you of anything weird or out of the ordinary, in the days before he died? As in, suddenly feeling very cold in a room, or hearing weird scratching noises at night?" I bluntly ask and she gives me a confused look. "N-No, not that I know of. I-Is that a thing that can happen b-before..?" I quickly shake my head. "Oh, no, not necessarily… but it can be. H-Have you ever experienced something like that in the days before perhaps? Or felt uneasy with your husband when you were in the same room?" Once again, Mrs. Miller seems confused and she leans back a little. "N-No, not that I can remember." I quickly fake a smile. "Oh, well, even if you had, it could just be the old house, how long have you lived here?" Mrs. Miller glanced around when I said 'old house' and I feel kind of stupid, the house doesn't look that old at all. "We moved in about five years ago, but there has been nothing like that, no… It has been perfect, really." She tells me and I give up after that. If there had been anything weird, she would have told me by now. Maybe Sam got something from the kid.
I politely thanked Mrs. Miller for her time, tell her I am sorry for her loss again and that she needs to take all the time she can to heal at her own pace, and then go off in search for my brother, who is no longer at the table where the son was sitting. He turns out to be upstairs with one of the EMF readers and his face falls when I tell him I got nothing out of Mrs. Miller, nothing useful at least. "Me neither." He tells me, before deciding we need to leave this family alone and go back to the motel.
When we get back, Dean is no longer in bed, sleeping. He's on top of the bed and has basically spread out every gun we own on top of the bedsheets and has taken them apart completely. "So?" He asks when we enter. "Nothing." Sam answers him glumly, stalking straight back to the table where his laptop is and dropping down on the chair. "I'll see if there's anything about the house I can find out." He announces. "Well, Mrs. Miller said they moved in about five years ago, they haven't owned it for long." I tell him what little information I do have about that. "And you said no cold spots or scratching or anything, right?" Sam asks me for the third time and I let out a sigh. "No, Sam. Nothing, neither her or her husband." I repeat, glancing at the bedsheets curiously. I've seen Dean clean our guns time after time again, I've seen dad do it before that, so it isn't new to me. However, now I am shooting myself, I am way more curious.
"How did you do, huh? You're not really dressed like a female priest." Dean glances up at me with a grin as the sounds of Sam furiously typing away on his laptop fill the motel room. "No, apparently female priests are very rare and secretaries don't accompany priests during house visits, so meet miss Roval, the local grief counselor." I spread my arms and flash him a grin. Dean lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Darling, you look barely old enough to go for a student in college, how the hell did you persuade this family into thinking you were an actual grief counselor?" He asks, grabbing a piece of cloth near him and the holster of one of the guns. "Sam introduced me as the junior grief counselor of the church." I tell him slowly, sitting down on the edge of the bed. Dean barks out a laugh. "Well, what works, works." He concludes with a slight shake of his head. He listens as I proceed to tell him what happened in that house, while Sam types away on his laptop. As my story finishes, Dean calls out to Sam. "What do you have?" Sam lets out a sigh. "A whole lot of nothing." He starts, pointing at the screen. "Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built." His expression saddens and he looks disappointed. "What about the land?" Dean asks, placing the cleaned holster back down and grabbing the gun itself. "No graveyard, battle fields, tribal lands or any other kind of atrocity on or near the property." Sam continues, standing up from his seat and starting to walk towards the other bed. "Well, nothing in the house or coming from the family suggests anything weird as well." I softly mutter, reaching out to grab a funny looking piece of a silver gun and gasping when Dean smacks my hand away, eying me sternly. "No cold spots you felt, Sky? Or sulfur sent?" He asks me. "No." I glare back at him, absentmindedly rubbing my hand where he smacked me. "And the family said everything was normal..?" Sam glances over his shoulder at me with a twinge of hope in his eyes, once again wanting confirmation that Mrs. Miller didn't see or hear anything. "Sam, if there had been anything in that house, even a ghost, someone would have noticed something." I irritably point out to him. Sam turns his head back, glancing down. "So, what? You think Jim Miller killed himself? And my dream was just some sort of freaking coincidence?" When he glances back at me again, he looks just as irritated. His eyes don't stay on me for long, but flash over to Dean in expectation. Dean meets his eyes shortly, before putting the gun he was cleaning back together and shrugging. "After what I just heard… I don't know. But, I'm pretty sure there's nothing supernatural about that house." He doesn't look at Sam as he answers, reaching for a second gun. "Yeah, well… uh…" Sam seems to be desperately searching for a different explanation, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Maybe, uh, maybe it has nothing to do with the house." He glances back and shifts his position a little, squinting his eyes. He looks uncomfortable and I raise my eyebrows, he looks like he's in pain. "Maybe it's just uh…" Now he's intensely holding his head, eyes squeezed shut and not able to finish his sentence. "Sam?" I slowly stand up, worry settling into my stomach. "Gosh… Maybe it's connected to Jim, in some other way…" Sam bends forward, not even acknowledging that I just called for him. Dean's no longer cleaning guns either, but staring at Sam and the way he's acting. "What's wrong with you?" He then asks, glancing swiftly over to me. Sam's letting out heavy breathing and suddenly the whole sphere changes. His breathing becomes quicker, his whole body tenses like he's in incredible pain and he's clutching his head. "Gahh!" He cries out, slowly sinking down off the bed towards the floor. "Gahh, my head!" I instantly dash forward and reach him within a few steps. "Sam! What's wrong? What's happening?" He looks like he's in incredible pain as he grunts and his body trembles a little. Dean has gotten up from his position on the other bed and is striding towards us, concern shining in his eyes. "Sam? Hey? Hey!" He crouches down in front of Sam and grabs his arms, holding him up. Sam's crying out and swaying and reaches a trembling hand out to Dean, pushing it on his chest. I cannot ignore the uneasy feeling spreading through my stomach as I watch. It's the same feeling I had last night, when I woke up the same time Sam did. I get snapped back into reality when Sam's eyes open. He seems to be disoriented, staring at Dean but not at him, through him. "Dean, what the hell? What's happening?" I slowly sink down as well, my hands still on Sam's shoulders. "I have no idea." Dean barks back, his eyes on Sam. "Wait…" Suddenly, the doubt and slight panic about Sam's wellbeing ebbs away and I inhale slowly. "He's having another dream." I conclude softly, like it's obvious. Which it is, to me. "What?" Dean tears his eyes from Sam and angrily stares at me. "Yeah, as in, I know he's not asleep, but he's seeing something. Something's gonna happen." I try to explain slowly, my hands still supporting Sam's shoulders. Dean opens his mouth to tell me something, but seems at loss for words. Sam suddenly comes back to life, like a snap of someone's fingers. His eyes are filled with panic as he focuses on Dean. "It's happening again! Something's gonna kill Roger Miller!" Dean, who jolted in surprise, leans his head to the side. "Come again?" He asks roughly, his hands still holding Sam up. Sam releases Dean's shirt and stands up quickly, his eyes flashing around. "We need to move. Now!" I quickly dash to my coat and shrug it on. "What did you see?" I ask him hastily. "Will you two just hold on for a god damn minute?" Dean's becoming more angry with the second and clearly has no idea what's happening. "We can't, Dean! Roger Miller is being killed as we speak!" Sam grabs Dean's jacket from the chair and throws it to him. "I…" Dean's thoroughly confused and concerned. "Dean, we can talk about it later, okay! We need to move! Now." I make a dash for the door and Sam follows me suit, sending me a grateful glance. Dean growls in frustration, but then throws his jacket on and strides towards the door. With a rough shake of his head, he pushes past Sam and me, out the door and towards the impala. I let out a shaky breath, but follow and soon we're speeding down the road, back towards the Miller house. We know Roger doesn't live there, but in the off chance he's there Dean's still driving that way. With a clenched jaw and stoic expression. I'm cautiously watching Sam, who's trying to find the right address on the phone. "Roger Miller? No, no… Just the address please… Okay, okay, thanks." He hangs up and lets out a deep breath. "450 West Grove, Apartment 1120." He tells Dean. Dean gives him a short nod, before worriedly glancing at him. "You okay?" He asks. Sam lets out another breath and then shortly nods. "Yeah, I'm okay." I know he's lying, but I bite my tongue. "If you're gonna hurl, I'll pull the car over you know, cause the upholstery…" Dean fusses, but Sam cuts him off. "I'm fine." He repeats. "All right." Dean's eyes focus back on the road. "Just drive." Sam's glance is filled with nerves. "All right." I slowly lean back in my seat, letting out my own shaky breath. I'm scared. Sam almost mimics my move, but does start talking. "Dean, I'm scared, man. These nightmares weren't bad enough… now I'm seeing things when I'm awake?" Dean stays silent to let Sam speak. "And these visions or whatever, they're getting more intense and painful." Sam drops his head. I slowly lean forward and put my hand on his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him. "Yeah, that didn't seem like it went by easy." I confirm. Dean gives a soft shake of his head. "Come on man, it'll be all right. You'll be fine." He states with a clenched jaw. That came over wrong with Sam, who pushes my hand off his shoulder in frustration. "What is it about the Millers?" He calls out in frustration. "Why am I connected to them? Why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me?" He throws his hands in the air and hopelessly looks at Dean. "I don't know, Sam, but we'll figure it out, okay? We face the unexplainable every day, this is just another thing." Dean retaliates, his voice slightly raised. "I don't think so." I mutter, before Sam can react to that. "It's never been us, right? Or you, for that matter?" I continue, when both my brothers fall silent and glance back at me. "She's right, this feels different. It's never been in the family like this." Sam sides with me. "What do you mean in the family?" Dean asks angrily. "She feels it, Dean. Haven't you noticed the pattern. I see it, she feels it, knows somehow what I've seen and has no doubts in her mind for a second that I might be actually dreaming, instead of it being real. Isn't that weird?" Sam points out the obvious that no one has dared to speak about and I shut my eyes for a second. "It freaks me out." I then admit softly. "Tell the truth, this must freak you out too?" Sam glances back at Dean, who's face has returned to stone as he stares at the road in front of us. "This doesn't freak me out." He then states. I raise my eyebrows, that's hard to believable. Sam, however, doesn't argue with him, so neither do I. I simply lean my head against the window and watch the dark surroundings speeding past me. My heart is beating in my chest and I'm hoping Roger is still alive. That we'll be in time to save him.
When we drive into the street where his appartement is supposed to be, I spot him walking across the sidewalk with two big grocery bags. "Sam, Sam, there he is!" I hiss. Dean instantly rolls down the window and slams on the break. "Hey, ROGER!" Sam bellows and catches Roger's attention. "Hey, hold up a second!" Dean calls after Sam when Roger has spotted the car. He does not seem happy to see us at all. "What are you guys, missionaries?" He angrily calls back and does not seem to think about stopping. "Leave me alone!" He adds, turning back around. "No! PLEASE!" I screech out of the window, but the man ain't listening. Dean reacts quickly, spurting forward and slamming the car back on the breaks to park it beside the road. We all dash out, Sam fastest. He sprints across the road. "Hey, ROGER! We're trying to help, PLEASE! Hey, hey!" He reaches the door Roger went through just too late and it slams into his face. "Damnit!" I curse, throwing the door of the impala closed. "I don't want your help." I hear Roger yell at Sam through the door, before stalking away. "We're not priests! You gotta listen to us!" Sam tries desperately. "Roger, you're in danger!" Dean has reached Sam and tries to help him get Roger's attention. Roger has walked away. Dean turns around, scanning the area with his eyes, determination on his face. "You, stay here, he might come back!" He then bellows at me and I hastily run up to them, ready to stand my guard. "Come on, come on!" Dean grabs Sam's arm and I watch the two of them sprint away and around the building, until they're out of sight. "Crap." I whisper in the cold evening air, glancing up at the building. I don't know what Sam saw, so I don't know what I'm supposed to look out for. Silence surrounds me now the pounding footsteps of my brothers have ebbed away. The door Roger disappeared through stays closed and the hallway I can see through it, stays empty. Then, a short but sharp pain shoots through my head. It surprised me more then it hurt, but I do double over and grab my head with both hands. "Crap." Roger just died and I am a hundred percent certain. Sam and Dean did not get to him in time. Crap.
When Sam and Dean come back from the back of the building, I'm already standing at the impala, arms wrapped around myself. I catch Sam's glance and we both know. "I'm telling you, there was nothing in there. There were no signs either, just like the Miller's house." I hear Dean tell Sam as they're crossing the road to get back to me. "I saw something! In the vision, like a dark shape, something was…" Sam gets cut off by Dean who grabs his arm to stop him from walking straight into traffic. "Something was stalking Roger." He then finishes, both of them crossing over and reaching me. "Why're you here, Skye? Didn't I tell you…" Dean's about to comment on why I'm not standing at the front of the appartement, when Sam interrupts him drily. "She knows." I nod to confirm it to Dean. "How? Did you see something?" Dean asks me, stunned by that information. "No, I uh…" I decide to lie, right there on the spot. "I uh, assumed it. Felt it, I guess." Dean raises his eyebrows and stays still for a second, then decides to drop it. He turns his attention back to Sam. "Whatever it was you saw, it's not connected to their house." He opens the impala and we all get inside. "What if it's connected to the family itself? Like Sam said earlier?" I explain my thoughts out loud and Sam confirms them. "It is connected to the family itself, it has to be." He glances at Dean. "So what do you think, like a vengeful spirit?" Dean nods shortly. "Well yeah, there's a few that have been known to latch onto families, follow them for years." I frown as I fasten my seatbelt. "Like Banshees, right?" I ask. Dean starts the car, nodding his head. "Basically like a curse. So, maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy. Something curse worthy." Dean drives off and Sam stares at the road, going over those words. "And now something's out for revenge… I mean, the men in their family are dying." He concludes. I slowly lean forward and tap him on his shoulder. "Hey, do you uh, think that Miller kid is in danger?" I ask him, once his eyes are focused on me. "He could be." He confirms, both of us now glancing at Dean. "Let's figure that out before he is." Dean states and drives off. Sam lets out a chuckle. "Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people…" He starts and I frown, as Dean glances at him. "What's that?" He asks. "Huh, both our families are cursed." Sam looks out the window as he says that. "That's not funny." I point out to him with a shake of my head, leaning back in my seat. Slightly annoyed. "That's not just not funny, that's not true. Our family is not cursed, we just have our dark spots." Dean reacts, his eyebrows raised. Sam lets out another chuckle. "Our dark spots are pretty dark…" He points out and even though I don't want to, a slight grin comes through on my face. He's got a point. "You're… dark." Is Dean's irritated come-back, before pushing in the gas and speeding up the car. Sam rolls his eyes, but doesn't entice him further. "So, uh, does that mean it's time for junior grief counselor again?" I change the subject and now it's Dean letting out a laugh. "Junior grief counsellor, still can't fathom it." He chuckles. "Well, it's how we got into the house before, right?" Sam backs me up, eyeing Dean. "Ugh, fine… But not tonight, those people are probably already asleep anyways." Dean gives in and I can't hide my happy smile. "Dean, if Max is in danger…" Sam falls silent when Dean glares at him. "If he truly was, you'd have one of your premonitions. You don't. The boy's asleep, we're going to do the same and tomorrow you can take miss grief counsellor over there back to the house." His statement is very clear and Sam doesn't argue with it any further.
Dean falls asleep fast, as soon as we're back. He only put his head on the pillow for a few seconds and the man is out cold. "Huh… I wish I could do that." I mutter, jealousy clear in my tone. "What?" Sam glances up from behind his laptop at the table. His eyes fall on his brother in the furthest bed and he lets out a fond chuckle. "Oh, yeah, was always one of his talents." His eyes divert back to the laptop. I slowly raise from my seat on the sofa and walk up to him. "Are you really researching the land again?" I ask him, taking place behind him and leaning on his shoulders to glance at the screen. "No." Is his short answer and I can immediately see he's right. He's looking into his premonitions, there's a website about 'm open on his search engine. "Sam… I don't think you'll find the answers on there…" I slowly point out. "Well, couldn't hurt to try, right?" He retorts, reaching up and grabbing my arm, squeezing it fondly. Then, he pushes it off his shoulder. "Go on, you go and get your hours in as well. Tomorrow we need to be at that house." He tells me, his tone having changed from worried and stressed into normal. "I'm fine, not really tired." I assure him, placing my hands on his shoulders. He's clearly going through some tough shit again and I want to be there for him. "Skye, you need your sleep. How long till the exams, like a week?" He throws in and I squeeze my eyes accusingly at him. He's right though, I've already received the dates and logging in codes. "Talking over it doesn't solve the problem." I point out to him. Sam chuckles. "Don't know what you're talking about. Go on, take the other bed." He motions for me to go and I let out a heavy sigh. "Fine… But we'll need to talk about it sometime." I grumble, stalking over to the empty bed. "Why, though?" Sam retorts, his tone still forcibly normal and light. "Cause I seem to be connected to it. I didn't guess about Roy's death, you know. I just… knew. Felt it, it wasn't natural at all." I drop that bomb on him as I climb into the bed. "What? What do you mean?" Now I've got his attention. "Mehh, I'm suddenly very tired…" I fake a huge yawn, cuddling up under the covers. "Skye, come on… Ya can't just…" Sam seems very concerned and I slightly curse myself, that had not been my intention at all. "Hey, relax, I was exaggerating." I know I already dug my own grave here, but still try to do some damage control. Sam lets out a very tired sigh, but stays silent after that and I mentally thank him for not pushing further.
He does the next morning, though. When we're in the car on our way to the Miller house in our outfits. "So, what did you mean by you feeling Roy's death yesterday? And it not being normal?" He doesn't leave me any room to talk around it and I let out an annoyed sigh. "You really think I'm gonna spill to you, when you shut me out?" I retort. Sam's not having it. "Hey, you don't need to worry about me, okay? You never need to worry about me. I, however, am very worried about you and no, you can't just say something like that to me without having to talk about it." His tone is strict and his jaws are clenched. He's firmly staring at the road. "You really telling me I don't have to worry about you, when you're having premonitions that literally make you fall to the ground in pain?" I retort, voice raised in irritation. "Stop talking about me and start talking about you, Skye! What wasn't normal, what happened yesterday?" Sam's voice rises to the same level as mine and his tone is filled with anger. He's also no longer looking at the road, but staring me down. It slightly takes me by surprise, I'm not used to him speaking to me like that. "Don't tell Dean." Is the first thing I mutter, glancing down at my hands. "What?" Sam's eyebrows rise in confusion. "Don't tell him. He's not worried about this at all and I don't want to make it worse…" My voice falters slightly. "Skye, I can't just…" Sam groans when he sees my pleading look. "Don't tell him." I repeat. "Okay. Okay, alright. Fine, I won't tell him." After that promise, I slowly try to explain what I've been feeling since Sam's premonitions started. How every time he sees something, I feel it. And not because he's going through something, but literally at the same time. How it's in my bones, how I know about it instantly. Without having seen anything. "And it was like that with Roy?" Sam's voice has gone back to its normal tone and all his attention is on me. "Yeah, I guess I uh… It was like an electric shock went through me or something. And not for real, but, you know… It was clear he died instantly, I already knew when you came back." I roll my eyes to the roof of the car, realizing how crazy this sounds. "Don't worry, you're not crazy…" Sam lets out a deep sigh, turning the car left onto a familiar road. "I'm not so sure about that anymore." Is my short reply and I glance down at my fidgeting hands. "Listen, you're gonna be fine, okay? I have no idea why my premonitions are having an effect on you, but I'm sure it's nothing to worry about." I slowly look up at him, resisting the urge to let out another sigh. Watching him park the car in front of the Miller house with clenched jaws. He's doing the exact same thing as Dean was before. Denying something is clearly off, completely ignoring that it's kind of crazy and just reassuring me it'll be fine. It instantly makes me regret talking about it to him. This conversation was awkward and got us nowhere. "Never mind." I mutter, opening the passenger door and fleeing out of the car. Sam follows me without saying anything else about it and soon we've rung the bell.
We're in luck. It's Max who opens the door for us and lets us in without question. "My mom is uh, resting. She's pretty wrecked." He explains as he leads us towards the living room. "Of course." Sam kindly tells him. Max takes a step forward and then turns around to us, looking lost with these sad, glazed over eyes. "All these people kept coming over, bringing us all these casseroles… I finally had to tell them all to go away…" I follow his glance towards the left side of the room, where the large dining table is filled with trays of food. "You know, cause nothing says 'I'm sorry' like a tuna casserole…" He's slightly talking nonsense and I see Sam look down with a slight smile. "Uh…" Max awkwardly looks at us and then takes a seat in the brown, leather chair. Sam and I follow his lead and lower ourselves on the sofa. "Hey Max, uh, I'm sure this has all been a lot. How are you doing?" I ask him softly, partly to avoid another awkward silence and partly because I actually do want to know. Max can't be that much older than me and he just lost his father and his uncle. "I'm okay…" Max answers me, pulling up his shoulders and becoming more tense. "Your dad and your uncle were uh, close?" Sam slowly leans forward in his seat, his eyes fixed on the boy in front of us. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, they were brothers. Used to hang out all the time when I was little." Max answers. "But not lately, much?" Sam presses on. "No, not that. It's just, we used to be neighbors when I was a kid and we lived across town in this house and uncle Roger lived next door, so he was over all the time." Max explains, scraping his tone. "Right." Sam leans back a little. "So, how was it in that house when you were a kid?" Is his next question. Max starts to seem a little confused and he glances from Sam to me. "Fine… Why?" I let out a slow breath. "Well, Max, we're just trying to place why your father did what he did, you know. Were there all good memories in that other house? Can you remember anything unusual? Like with your father and your uncle?" I try to explain to him why we're asking these questions, while at the same time continuing to fish for the information Sam was trying to get out of him. Max seems even more confused and he slowly leans further away from us. "Wh- Uh, what are you… Why do you ask…" He stumbles, looking highly uncomfortable. "These are just questions, Max." I try to assure him, giving him a soft smile. "No, there was nothing. We were totally normal. Happy." He then says, glancing at me with an expression that's almost daring me to challenge his answer. "Good. That's good." Sam slowly confirms and I feel his elbow softly bump against my side. "Max, I'm sure you're very tired from everything that's happened." I start as I stand up from the sofa, having understood Sam's memo. "Yeah, we'll let you and your mom rest. Thank you." Sam follows my lead and soon we're out the door, walking back towards the car. Both of us stay silent until we're across the street. "Did you believe him when he said it was all normal and happy?" I then hiss to Sam. "Nah, not really. Did you see how he looked when he was talking about his old house?" Sam answers as he reaches for the keys. "He looked highly uncomfortable." I nod, leaning against the front door of the car. "To me he sounded scared, I'm sure he's not telling us everything." Sam nods, unlocking the car. "Well, how the hell we gonna find out what he's not telling us, then?" I ask as I take place in the passenger seat. "We get back to Dean and figure that out." Sam tells me, starting the car. We stay silent as we drive back. I think both of us are having the same, kind of uneasy feeling. Something about Max just now wasn't right. Didn't feel right, the way he looked when we were asking those questions… I'm almost sure he's hiding more then we're thinking.
Back at the motel, Dean's gotten up and out of his bed and is eager for the information about our visit. He listens without interrupting us, when we tell him what we heard and mostly what we didn't hear. Dean decides it's time to go and see what that old neighborhood Max mentioned looks like and I watch him and Sam leave about half an hour later. I expected them to casually return about two hours later with some new information. What I didn't expect was a phone call about an hour later that gives a frightful plot twist to the whole story. And at the same time explains the weird, electric feeling I got about ten minutes or so. "It's Max, Skye. It's him doing all this." I hear Sam crying out through the phone, right after I picked up. "What?" I ask, brows furrowed in complete confusion. "We went to his old neighborhood and spoke to the man that lived across from Max and his uncle. He basically told us that Max's father and uncle were alcoholics, mean drunks and that they used to beat him to a pulp almost every day." That's Dean's voice coming through, they're probably in the car together. "Oh damn, that poor kid… That's why he looked so goddamn uncomfortable when we asked about his old house." I slowly lean back in the cushions, a pit rising in my stomach. "Yeah. Well, then I saw something that explained it all…" Sam starts, but I interrupt him. "You had another vision in brought daylight?" I cry out, the pit in my stomach only growing. "Yeah well, never mind that. I saw a premonition of Max and his stepmom…"
"Stepmom? Wait, so that wasn't his real mother?" I ignore Sam's annoyed huff as I once again interrupt him. "Yeah, according to the man we just spoke, his real mom died when he was a young kid and his stepmom apparently just watched as he got beaten up every day. Like, never even lifted a finger." Dean quickly explains. "But what the hell do you mean with 'it's Max' then?" I am at a loss for what's going on. "If you would just listen…" Sam snaps in annoyance, taking the conversation back over. "I saw Max and his stepmother in the kitchen and Max was visibly upset with her, going on about how she never helped him and then the knife she was cooking with just started to move on its own while he was threatening her. It's him, he's doing all of this." I let out a soft gasp, it's slightly making more sense now. "Does that mean he murdered his own father and uncle?" It was more a thought I said out loud then a question, but Dean confirms it anyways. "Yes and he's going to murder his stepmom in the very near future." Within seconds I'm off the couch, leaping towards my jacket that's hanging off the side of one of the chairs. "Shit! Where are you now?" I can clearly hear the engine of the impala roar in the background and I'm sure they're racing down the road as we speak. "On our way to the house… if we're quick, we might get there in time." Dean answers me shortly. "Yeah, if we're lucky." Sam's sarcastic whisper is still clearly audible. "I'm going as fast as I can, Sam!" I hear Dean's frustration coming through clenched teeth. "I'll make sure I'm right outside so I can jump in…" I sprint towards the door of the motel room, but stop dead in my tracks when I hear Sam snort sarcastically. "What the hell makes you think we're coming to get you?" I let out a soft breath. "Ah, yeah. Of course. My mistake, I guess…" I feel oddly humiliated as the reality catches up with me. What was I thinking? That they would come to get me and then drive straight into very immediate danger, a teenager acting through cropped up emotions and murdering his whole family?
"Wait, how is he doing this?" I'm very glad no one can see my red face as I ask the last question on my mind. "Telekinesis or something, we don't really know yet. Seems to be something going on with his mind." Dean's answer seems very logic to me and I slowly shrug my jacket back off. "Ah, so that's why Sam's having his visions or whatever… it's not something, but its Max he's tapping into…" It feels like the perfect explanation, but not to Dean apparently. "Don't you dare look so smug, Sam. There is nothing you have in common with this kid and I have no clue why that's the first thing you thought of, Skye!" I can hear his anger immediately. "She's just uh, seeing what I'm seeing here, Dean! Somehow I can see in his head, or whatever, and see what he's planning." Sam argues back. "Hey, stop it!" I yell down the phone, my head is starting to hurt. "Will you two please be careful… This kid is killing people with his mind, okay? That's some crap straight out of a horror movie." There's a short silence. "Hey, don't worry, we'll be fine. We'll get him." Dean's trying to sound reassuring, but that only fuels my concern. "Get him? He's a kid, Dean. What're you gonna do, shoot him?"
"No we won't shoot…" Sam was about to reassure me, but Dean decides the conversation is done. "We're not discussing this right now. Skye, for the love of god stay at the motel, we'll come find you after this is over." I don't get a chance to say anything back, he hung up the phone. "Damnit." I softly curse under my breath and throw the phone to the couch.
It's not easy to stay put, knowing what my brothers are running into. I obsessively keep checking my phone and anxiety is spiraling through my veins. A kid who's killing with his mind sounds more dangerous than a demon right now, especially a traumatized one who already killed both his father and his uncle. And Sam's tapping into him somehow, which is also not a very reassuring thought. And my head hurts. A soft pounding near my temples that just doesn't seem to go away, nor get worse. Until it does, about half an hour later while I am sitting on the sofa, shaking my leg and biting my nails. It flames up so drastically it completely catches me of guard. I grab at my head in a loud cry of pain, but as my eyes open, the world is spinning. With a thud I land on the floor, hands grasping at my temples desperately, mouth wide open in a scream. And then everything turns black.
"Skye! Come on, puppy, wake up!" Even before I can feel the blood rushing back to my head and am aware that I'm waking up, I can hear Dean's panicked whispering close to my ear. I instinctively try to react to it, but feel very heavy. And groggy. Slowly I start to feel more, like a cooler breeze against my skin and then lots of noises. Cars, if I'm not mistaken. Cars and horns honking in the distance, the sound of a busy road and the rustling of leaves and bushes. "Skye, damnit!" A rough hand gently grabs my chin and turns my head from side to side and Dean's voice is still panicked. Without hesitation I try to open my eyes and am instantly blinded by a streetlight that's right above me. "Gahh, crap." My voice sounds hoarse, but I don't feel any pain. When my hand shoots up to block the light from my eyes, there is also no pain. I just feel a little stiff. "Oh, thank God…" Dean's face swims into my view and my eyes quickly accustom to the surroundings and the details of his face. Instant relief is visible in his eyes and before I know it, his arms wrap around my frame and crush me tightly to his chest. "She awake?" That's Sam's concerned voice coming from a little further away and soon I hear rushing footsteps coming closer. "Yeah, yeah… I think she's okay." Dean quickly releases me from his tight grip and slowly grabs my hands, pulling me into sitting position. "Hey, look at me. Baby, look at me. How are you feeling? Are you alright?" I slowly blink and then lean my head from side to side. The intense headache that made me fall to the floor is no longer there. I feel groggy, but fine. "Yeah, I uh, I think so." I answer him, focusing my eyes on his. "What the hell happened?" There is Sam, crouching down next to Dean, his big wide eyes scanning my body from head to toe. "I uh, I don't know…" Another cold breeze against my skin makes me look around and realize I'm outside, on the pavement. "Wait, why are we outside?" Last I can remember, I was inside the motel room, anxiously waiting to hear from them. "We uh, we found you passed out on the floor about ten minutes ago, pup. I thought some fresh air might help… You wouldn't wake up…" The fright that gave Dean is still visible in his tone and Sam keeps flashing his eyes up and down my body. "Guys, I'm fine…" I instantly feel embarrassed and reach for Dean's jacket to pull myself up. "Here, come on." Dean grabs my arms and pulls me to my feet carefully. I sway on the spot a little, but soon the lightheaded feeling disappears and I force my arms out of his grip. "I'm okay, really! I'm fine." I try again. "Hey, hey. We literally found you passed out on the floor, god knows how long you've been like that. You sure you feel fine?" Sam grabs my shoulders and forces me to face him. "I'm sure, Sam. Really. I must have forgotten to drink enough, or something. I just fainted." I try to downplay what happened as much as I can. "What happened, puppy?" Dean takes place next to Sam, glancing at me sternly, as if I decided to faint on purpose. "I got a little lightheaded and then everything went black, like right before you guys came back, I'm sure." I glance down and realize I've started to shiver, my body reacting to the colder outside temperatures. "Let's go back inside." Sam nods to Dean and then heads left. I follow his movements and see that we're just outside the motel, the impala is parked a few feet away. "Come on." Dean grabs my shoulders and blatantly ignores my protests and splutters of 'I can walk just fine', guiding me back towards our motel room. Once inside, Dean softly pushes me on the edge of the bed and takes place next to me. "Come here, let me take a look at you…" He mutters absentmindedly, once again taking a hold of my chin and forcefully turning my head. "Dean, I said I was fine. Really, I just…" Dean blatantly ignores my protests and just gives me a stern, disapproving look. My slump my shoulders and let out a sigh, but don't protest any further and let him examine my face. It gives me a chance to look at him and now he's in the light, I notice how his eyes are dark and his face looks uneven. A bruise is forming on his left side and there are red patches around his eyes. "Hold on, what the hell happened to you?" I cry out. Dean's eyes darken further and he huffs. "We had a little encounter with our psychic, Max." He answers me shortly. That instantly makes me remember why I was anxiously waiting in the motel room right before I blacked out and I turn my head to Sam. His eyes aren't filled with just concern for me, there's something else there. A dark glister that feels different then how he normally looks. "Sam, what happened?" I repeat my question, my eyes on him. He softly scrapes his throat. "Will you let Dean look at you, if I tell you?" He sounds very unsure and hesitant and Dean's dark glare at him does not go unmissed. "What the hell happened out there? Why are you guys acting like this…" An uneasy feeling starts settling in my stomach. "Sam." Dean's voice sounds like he's warning him sternly, but Sam shakes his head. "We can't not tell her." He states firmly, glaring right back at Dean. "Okay, you're starting to scare me…" I look from Dean to Sam anxiously and Sam lets out a sigh. "Right after we uh, hung up the phone with you, we got to Max's house. Like I said on the phone, I had another premonition and I saw Max start a fight with his stepmother in the kitchen about all the beatings he went through and how he blamed her for never helping him. He was so angry, Skye. And then the uh, the knife that was on the counter, started moving on its own. And he was doing it, he was using the knife with his mind to threaten her and then to kill her…" Sam slowly sits down in one of the chairs at the small table by the window, his eyes on me. "Jesus. Did you get there in time?" I ask, letting Dean pull my face to the side to examine my forehead. "Yeah, we stormed in just when the fight was starting and convinced Max to let us talk to him. He did hurt his stepmom by throwing her against the counter, god he was so angry and hurt. Dean was able to get to her and take her upstairs, while Max agreed to talk with me…" Sam stops and scrapes his throat, his eyes flashing to Dean. Dean's lips are pursed and his eyes are like fire is gonna spew out of them at any moment, but he stays silent. "Max uh, Max told me that uh, that his dad blamed him for everything, even his mother's death and when I asked him about his mother's death, he uh…" Sam stops again and heaves his eyes to the ceiling, searching for words. "He what?" I am almost afraid to ask by how he's acting. "He told me that his mom died in his nursery, stripped up on the ceiling right above his crib, engulfed in fire…" Slowly, my mind wraps around what he just told me. "Wait… Like mom? Like, our mom died above my crib?" It sounds absolutely insane when I say it out loud. "Yeah, exactly like that. Max uh, Max thought his dad must have been drunk but his mind control abilities started around the same time as uh, as my dreams and, well, your psychic feelings I guess…" Sam looks even more hesitant now and I realize with a gasp he must've told Dean about our private conversation in the car. Dean's angry eyes glancing from me to Sam confirm my suspicions and I let out a soft groan. "Damnit, Sam." I throw him a betrayed glare and he throws his hands up. "I had to, Skye! Right after this whole mess, I had to tell him so he could understand what was happening here…" He tries to defend himself. "And what is that, huh? What is happening here?" My confusion is starting to make me angry and I slap Dean's hand away when he once again tries to have a look at my face. "Max's mom died the same way ours did, above his crib engulfed in fire, probably also killed by the demon dad thinks killed ours. Then, he started to discover abilities around the same time we did… We were connected, that's why I was drawn here…" Sam tries to explain it to me, but it sure as hell doesn't make any sense to me. "Sam, I don't have any abilities and you just see things. That's very different from being able to kill a woman with a knife using your mind." I can't help my voice rising in anger. "Or try bewitching a gun to hang in the air and shoot with a thought instead of a pull on the trigger." Dean drily adds to my rant and I turn to him with wide eyes. "What?" Dean gives me a very unamused chuckle. "Yeah, Sam was unable to convince Max to stop killing and he locked him in a closet, before coming upstairs to finish the job and kill both me and his stepmom with my own gun…" He explains to me. When I continue to stare at him in disbelief, he nods his head to Sam. "Boy wonder there saw that, while he was locked in the closet and then managed to get out to prevent that from happening, but uh…" Dean falls silent and Sam's eyes turn to the floor. "But what?" My eyes turn back to Sam and he clears his throat. "Max shot himself. I promised him we'd help him, but he just turned that gun…" The sadness in his voice is real and it makes my anger die down instantly. "There was nothing you could have said, we spoke about this." Dean tries to sound as reassuring as he can, standing up from his place beside me. "Jesus, well this is just messed up." I let out a soft breath. I can remember the kid and how he looked at me only this morning, before all went to shit apparently. "Yeah, well, I'm just glad we had dad…" Sam mutters, leaning back against the chair, looking defeated. My mouth almost falls open when I hear him say that and even Dean looks shocked. "I never thought I'd ever hear you say that." He mumbles, eyes on Sam expectantly. "Yeah, you can say that again." I whisper softly. "Well, it could have gone a whole other way after mom… A little more tequila, a little less demon hunting… and we would've had Max's childhood." Dean gives a small nod, the anger having completely disappeared and he almost looks approving. "All things considered… we did turn out okay, thanks to him." Sam finishes, glancing at me slowly. "All things considered…" I repeat after him slowly.
Silence falls between us and even though my head is still swirling with about a thousand questions, my heart is no longer racing. "Alright, now back to you… Maybe we should let a doctor check on you." Dean turns back to me with raised eyebrows. "Oh, hell no." I shake my head and cross my arms. "Can you imagine how weird and downright scary it was to have just found out Max's mom died the same way ours did, but above your crib, and then to come home to find you passed out..? Max shot himself and you passed out." Sam looks at me in disbelief, voice slightly raised. "I think you're looking into this a little too much, Sam…" I skeptically raise my eyebrows at him. "No, look I've been thinking…" Dean lets out a huff. "That's never good." He jokes, making me chuckle. "No, I'm serious…" Sam's not laughing and there's clearly something else he needs to get off his chest. "I've been thinking, why would this demon uh, or whatever it is… Why would it kill mom and Jessica and Max's mother? You know? Like, what does it want?" As Sam expresses his thoughts, Dean walks over to his bed and starts packing up his stuff. "No idea." He grumbles as he folds one of his shirts on the bed. "What are you thinking, Sam? I mean, do you think it's after us?" I have to admit that saying that out loud scares me a little, but it does seem to be where my brother's thoughts are going. Sam huffs slowly. "Yeah, well… after Max and me… and maybe uh…" He seems to struggle in getting out what he needs to get out and Dean picks up on it. "Why would you think that?" Sam shrugs, reaching for all the papers that he earlier printed out about the house and information on Max's family. "I mean…" He shoves them in his bag and then looks back up. "Either telekinesis, or premonitions… or being psychic and having weird feelings…" He points at me hesitantly as he says that and I raise my eyebrows in confusion. "These are all abilities, you know…" Dean seems to get what Sam's trying to say and shakes his head firmly as he puts his folded clothes in his bag. "Maybe it is after us, for some reason." Sam inhales deeply, somehow not able to look at me. "Okay, what do you mean with abilities, Sam?" I'm starting to get frustrated again. "You told me yourself, Skye… And you fainted when Max shot himself, you're feeling all kinds of psychic whenever I see things. And I see those things, those are not normal things to have, okay!" Sam finally does catch my eyes and he looks scared as he yells at me. "I goddamn know it ain't normal, Sam. None of this is." I yell back, crossing my arms, trying to push my own fear back down. "What I don't understand, is why I am seeing things while mom died above your crib… However…" The argument is about to continue, when Dean steps in. "Both of you, quit it." Angry eyes stare from me to Sam. "Sam, if that demon would have wanted you, he'd have already taken you, okay? This is not your fault." Dean's voice takes on a more reassuring tone and Sam looks down. "This is not about you, nor her." Dean points from Sam to me, sounding absolutely sure of his case. "Then what is this about?" Sam asks, grabbing his other bag and shoving his laptop back inside. "This is 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 gives another exasperated shake of his head and then continues packing his stuff like that's it. In the little silence that follows, I walk over to the sofa to grab my schoolbooks. I might as well also start packing. Then, Sam starts talking again. "Actually, there's uh, there's something else too." He says, voice low and hesitant. "Ah, jeez, what?" Dean slams the shirt he was holding on the bed and abruptly turns around to walk over to the table. "When Max locked me in that closet, with that big cabinet against the door, I moved it…" Right after those last words, he awkwardly scrapes his throat and looks back at his almost full bag. Dean clearly misunderstands and goes on about Sam becoming stronger now he's back at hunting, but I heard him right. I heard him clear as day. "With your mind? You moved it with your mind, didn't you?" Sam slowly glances at me and gives me a small nod. "Oh…" Dean falls silent across the room, his eyes on Sam. Another awkward silence follows and the confusion I'm continuing to feel is starting to anger me. "Right…" Dean continues to look at Sam and I can see Sam is very nervous. He licks his lips as he glances at Dean expectantly. Then, Dean does something that is both hilarious and completely out of place. He reaches for the table and grabs a metal spoon, holding it up to Sam. "Bend this." He challenges, his face still serious. "Oh, Jesus Christ…" I mumble in disgust, covering my face with my hands for a second. "I can't turn it on and off, Dean." Sam sounds exasperated. "Then why did you do it?" Dean pushes for more information. "I don't know, I can't control it. I… I saw you die and it just came out of me, like a punch, you know? Some kind of freak adrenaline thing." Sam angrily explains what happened to him when he was locked in that closet and it sure as hell sounds like it was what Max could do with his mind. Move things. Which scares me senseless. Somehow, it doesn't scare Dean, who throws the spoon back on the table and turns around. "Well, I'm sure it won't happen again." He states drily. "What if I start seeing things? Or moving things?" It's out before I know it and I hate how my voice is trembling. "Oh no, don't you start as well. There is nothing going on with you, you just fainted, remember?" His angry eyes focus on mine and he sounds so sure of himself that I almost believe him. "Aren't you worried, man? Aren't you worried I could turn into Max? Or that her feelings are just a foreboding of what could happen?" Sam throws his hands in the air and stares at Dean. It's clear he is worried about that and so am I. "Nope. No way." Dean sounds perfectly calm as he responds, rolling up his spare jeans. "You know why?" He eyes Sam, who seems at a loss. "No, why?" He repeats in an almost defeated tone. "Cause you got one advantage that Max didn't have." Dean puts the rolled up jeans inside his bag. "What? Dad? Because dad's not here, Dean…" Sam watches Dean shrug on his jacket with a lost look on his face. "No. Me." Dean flashes him a confident smile and grabs his bag. "As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you. Or you." He swirls around and points at me, that same smile still on his face. "However, I do know what we need to do about your premonitions." He turns back around and walks up towards Sam. "I know where we have to go." That peaks my interests, since I'd expected him to go on denying that they were happening. "Where?" I ask before Sam can. "Vegas." Dean finishes his horrible joke with a giant smile, glancing from Sam back to me. "Oh my god…" I let myself fall backwards on the sofa with a huff, while Sam looks at him twice in complete shock. "C'me on, dude…" Dean shoots both his hands forward and delivers a few well directed pokes straight into Sam's ribs. Sam lets out a surprised yelp and twists away, the slight grin that was already on his face breaking out into a smile. "Gahh, stop!" He barks out a laugh when Dean follows his movements, continuing his soft assault. "Dehean!" Sam tries to block his brothers attack and I can't help but chuckle at the rather wholesome scene in front of me. It's good to see Sam genuinely smile. "Come on, Sammy, I'll even let you drive." Dean wiggles his eyebrows playfully, dodging Sam's blocking arm and getting a few more squeezes in. Sam gasps and folds himself forward, a few more laughs escaping him. "Gahha Dehean, stohop!" Dean shrugs, but complies and then walks past him like nothing happened, a vibrant smile on his face. "And you, get your ass up, time to go." He pats my legs as he walks past me, before walking outside. Sam huffs, face flushed slightly, but he also makes his way towards the door. "Come on, don't make me wait for your ass." He grumbles at me as he passes, blatantly ignoring the bright and teasing smile I flash at him. I heave myself off the sofa and reach for my bag, checking to see if I'm still missing anything. One sweep in the bathroom later and I throw my stuff in the trunk, taking place in the backseat of the already warmed up car. Somehow thankful we could leave this one with a smile on our faces.