𖥔 ՞ ˖࣪ ٪ ˖ ݁ . ؛ ៹ ָ࣪ ̨𖥔 ִ ་ ، ˖ ࣪ ་ ˖ ʿ 🏹 ꜝꜞ
✧── XXIII ;'-           the gifted!
📼 ( 5 STEPS TO FORGIVENESS )

SEASON 1 ; EPISODE 14┈•
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𓍢 ━━ ❪ ACT ONE OF BOHEMIAN ❫ ˖୧
❝ HE AND I WERE CUT FROM THE SAME CLOTH !❞

Something was brewing among what was left of the Winchester family and Bowie could feel it.

John had covered his tracks since last April, the search for him running thin and making the brothers frustrated. Bowie felt like he was losing his edge. Another reminder that John had made him who he was in the first place— and like Bowie, if he didn't want to be found he would be.

And that was the problem.

He's hiding something.

Bowie was restless to find out.

So restless in fact, that the young man was now sitting up in bed at the newest motel room an hour outside of Michigan. His legs were crossed at the ankled, the lamp light on his side shining down on the journal on his lap, with his colored pencils and pens.

May's early breeze seeped through the crack of window. He shivers, rolling his shoulders. He got the bed all to himself after Dean lost in Rock Paper Scissors, which meant that Bowie could stay up and draw in a comfortable position without Dean kicking and elbowing him every time he moved in his sleep.

Thankfully, Dean always choose scissors.

Bowie finished writing his latest entry about John and their side quests hunting monsters. He wrote everything he came across in his journal, along with how he felt about things he couldn't bottle up. He wanted his hunting journal to be different than John's, he wanted his to be fun and helpful, unlike John's messy Wikipedia pages.

Drawings of the creatures how he saw them, entries and entries of the tales of the three brothers who fight monsters and save the day, annotated with Bowie's snippy remarks and theories.

He bites the back of his thumb, hesitating. Then he clicks his pen and writes: ' yellow eyes = familiar? ' and circling it twice.

Flipping two pages back, Bowie hunches forward to finish the small details on the Reaper's black suit, leaning back with a smile when it came out exactly how he pictured it in his head, "I still got it."

Sam abruptly sits up, gasping for air in a cold sweat. His face was red, tinting under his eyes and across his nose. With heavy eyes he looks around in panic, "Bow!" He shouts, subconsciously, disoriented.

Bowie pushes everything off of him, "I'm here."

Sam had a nightmare. Or in his case, a vision, of a man who died in the front seat of his car. The creature in Sam's vision nothing more than fantom force but it felt so real.

"He's dead," Sam tells him.

"Who's dead?" Bowie asks.

He slides off the bed and turns on the light, "Wake up, wake up!" He shook Dean's arm, "We gotta go."

Dean groans, "What are you doing, man? It's the middle of the night."

"We have to go, right now," Sam tells them.

They were on the road within twenty minutes, packed up and gone like they were never there. Bowie is sitting in the backseat, rapidly sketching something out in his thick leather book.

Sam had just finished explaining what he saw in his vision, and just like always, Dean was quick to deny it.

"Sammy, relax," Dean responds once they put Sam on hold, "I'm sure it's just a nightmare."

Sam scoffs, "Yeah, tell me about it."

"I mean it," He firms, "A normal, everyday, naked-in-class nightmare. And I'm sure Bow'll agree."

Bowie didn't glance up, "Nope."

Dean's face slacks, "This license plate, it won't check out, you'll see."

"It felt different, Dean," Sam explains, "It felt real, like when I dreamed about our old house and Jessica."

"Well, yeah. You're dreaming about our house, your girlfriend," He emphasized, "This guy in your dreams, you ever seen him before?"

"No, but—"

"No," Dean echoes, "So why would you have premonitions about some dude in Michigan?"

Bowie sighs, "I don't know, Dean, why would he have premonitions about our old house if he doesn't remember living in it?"

Sam motions to him, his expression screaming 'see' but Dean rolled his eyes in response.

"When was the last time you slept, anyway?" The Eldest changes the subject, glancing in the backseat, "You were wide awake before me."

Sam frowns at that, "And me," He realized. He turns his whole body around, "You must be exhausted."

Bowie furrowed his eyebrows, "Shut up, I'm fine. While you two look for cases, I'm doing my job, which twenty-four seven eyes for John."

Dean nods in agreement.

"He's constantly on the move, road-tripping all the way to as far as I know, California," Bowie continues, rapidly taps his journal, "I've been mapping, outlining and analyzing his every last move, every hint, every phone call, all clues since day one. It's Bowie's Law!"

Sam raised a hand in defense, "Gee, Sherlock, sorry I even asked."

"You sound like one of those UFO conspiracy theorist, you know that?" Dean asked rehotorically.

Bowie leans back, looking smug, "And to think, this is only what I'm not getting paid for."

"Future Private Investigator?" Dean teases.

Sam shakes his head, smirking, "Hitman."

"Yeah, sure. I'll say I have an Art Major with a minor in future Assassin," He says sarcastically.

Within the hour, the brothers were quietly observing the swarm of police cars around a house somewhere in Michigan, removing the aftermath of what looked like a suicide.

Sam was sulking in the passenger's seat, watching as they carried the body out of the garage in a stretcher, the body covered by a bag and the streets covered in curious neighbors.

While Sam and Dean looked at the house, Bowie sat in the backseat, looking at Sam with a suspicious frown.

He had dreamed about this man's murder hours before it occured and Bowie couldn't chalk it up to anything but freaky.

Sure, he wouldn't say any of that to Sam's face but he couldn't help but wonder the extent of his brother's dreams. He could chalk Jessica's dream to guilt and the  dream about their old house to a bad feeling but this?

This was getting out of hand.

"Come on," Dean mumbles, getting out of the car. The brothers follow suit, blending in with the locals across the street, "What happened?"

A woman beside them says, "Suicide. I can't believe it."

"Did you know him?" Sam pressed.

She nods, "Saw him every day at St. Augustine's. He always seems— seemed so normal."

Bowie raised an eyebrow, "You can be 'normal' and still be depressed," He corrects.

She backtracks, "Yes, of course. I just mean, you never know what's going on behind closed doors."

"How are they saying it happened?"

"I heard they found him in the garage," She answers, "Locked inside his car with the engine running."

That's what Sam said happened in his dream.

"Do they know about what time they found him?"

"Oh, it just happened about an hour or two ago," She corrects, "His poor family. I can't even imagine what they're going through."

Sam, of course, looked guilty about the whole ordeal. He swallows the words he wants to say and walks back over to the car, leaning on the hood with his hands in his pockets.

"Sam, we got here as fast as we could," Dean soothes.

"Not fast enough."

Bowie sighs, taking the other side of Sam, "We can't save everyone, Sam, no matter how hard we try."

     "How are you suddenly so easy to accept that?" Sam scoffs.

     "Why are you getting riled up with me?" Bowie tensed, "I was just trying to make you feel better!" He adds through his teeth."

"It just doesn't make any sense," Sam deflates, "Why would I even have these premonitions unless there was a chance I could stop them from happening?"

"Maybe they weren't premonitions," Bowie suggests, "Maybe you were looking through the eyes of the creature. Maybe you're seeing what they plan to do right before they do it, like with the Poltergeist and mom."

Sam shakes his head, "I don't know. What do you think killed him?"

He shrugs, "I don't know."

"Maybe the guy just killed himself," Dean pipes, "Maybe there's nothing supernatural going on at all."

"Sam having dreams about this is supernatural enough," Bowie argues.

"I'm telling you, I watched it happen," Sam vows, "He was murdered by something. It trapped him in the garage."

"A spirit, a poltergeist, what?" Dean pressed in annoyance.

Sam clenches his jaw, "I don't know what it was. I don't know why I'm having these dreams, I don't know what the hell is happening, Dean. Okay?"

Dean stared at him, his face twisted. He was clearly thinking something—- he just wouldn't say it.

"We aren't attacking you," Bowie reassures, "We're just worried about it." The eldest nods in agreement.

"Well don't look at me like that," Sam debates.

Bowie reels back, and Dean says, "We're not looking at you like anything," His voice was pitched, "Though I got to say, you look like crap."

Sam rolls his eyes, "Nice, thanks."

Dean shrugs, "Come on, let's just pick this up in the morning, all right? We'll check out the house. We'll talk to the family."      

"You saw them, they're devastated," Sam reminds, "They're not gonna want to talk to us."    

Bowie hums, "Yeah, we won't be able to just show up," He thinks for a moment, glancing back at the house, "But I think I know who they'll talk to."

Dean smiles, "I like the way you think sometimes."

*·˚ ༘ ➳〔 𝙗𝙤𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙖𝙣 〕 ࿐ ࿔*:

The next day around noon the brothers returned to the house where the man in Sam's dreams was murdered. Side by side the brothers stood with Bowie in the middle, who leaned forward and rang the doorbell.

"Show time," He mutters to them, crossing his arms behind his back to appear more gentle than he was.

"This has got to be a whole new low for us," Sam sighs. The three were posing as Priests, "How'd you get these anyway?"

"I have my connections," Bowie responds. In truth, he stole them but Sam didn't need to know that.

The door opens, and a man stands on the other side looking confused and frustrated. Bowie tried his best to reassure him, smiling with his teeth as he watched Dean adjust his collar.

"Good afternoon," Dean leads, "I'm father Simmons, this is father Freely and father O'Ryan," He introduced them, "We're new junior Priests over at St. Augustine's, may we come in?"

The man nods, and they enter.

"We're sorry for your loss."

Bowie nods in agreement, "It's in difficult times like these when the Lord's guidance is most needed," He physically shivered at his own words, holding in his word vomit.

"You wanna pitch your whole 'lord has a plan' thing, fine. Don't pitch it to me, my brother's dead," The man cuts in.

"Roger please," Says a blonde with a tray of food, most likely the wife of the deceased by the way she carried herself, "I'm sorry about my brother-in-law, he's just upset about Jim's death. Would you like some coffee?"

With the offer on the table, the three brothers sit along the ugly pink couch in the living room. Bowie is sitting on the arm rest, shirt unbuttoned in a very un-priest way as he sipped on his bitter black coffee.

"It was wonderful of you to stop by," She tells them, "The support of the church means so much right now."

"Of course. After all, we are all God's children," Dean smiles. Bowie rolls his eyes behind the woman's back at the same time, Dean grabs a sample off the tray, "What?"

Sam looks between them, "Just tone it down a little bit, fathers," He emphasized.

Ms. Miller comes back and sits on the couch, smiling sadly at them.

"So, Ms. Miller, did your husband have a history of depression?" Dean jumps into the questioning.

"Nothing like that," She shakes her head, "We had our ups and downs like everyone, but we were happy. I just don't understand," Her voice breaks, "How Jim could do something like. . ."

Bowie's eyes strain behind the woman, where a younger boy around Sam's age was sitting on a chair in the kitchen. He looked like he didn't want to be there, his eyes moving around in paranoia. Bowie frowns.

That was Jim's son, right? So why wasn't he with everyone else?

"I'm so sorry you had to find him like that," Sam says.

Ms. Miller shakes her head, "Actually, our son, Max. He was the one that found him."

Bowie jumps at the opportunity, "Do you mind if we go talk to him?"

"Oh, thank you fathers," She smiles.

Sam had followed Bowie over to Max, who was looking at them with controlled panic. Bowie didn't know why he felt major sympathy for a boy he's never met, but there was something about Max that Bowie couldn't place.

"Hey, Max," Sam starts, "I'm Sam, this is Bowie."

"What was your dad like?" Bowie asks.

"Just a normal dad," Max responds.

Bowie's eyes narrow, and he looks away. The hunter reels at the reaction. He wasn't exactly narrowing his eyes at Max, but the action made the boy tense up.

"And you're living at home now?" Sam continues.

Max nods, "I'm trying to save up for school, but it's hard."

"So, when you found your dad. . ."

"When I woke up, I heard the engine running. I don't know why he did it," He explains.

     Ding, ding, ding. Bowie's radar had sparked a lightbulb in his brain, his arms uncrossing at the realization that Max was speaking from a mental script.

The avoidant eye-contact, the red face, the shifty attitude. It was all right in front of him.

"I know it's rough losing a parent," Sam sympathized, "Especially when you don't have all the answers."

Max didn't respond.

Bowie took it as an opportunity to excuse them, practically pulling Sam away from Max while they looked for Dean— who found nothing upstairs related to EMF or anything supernatural for that matter.

So they came back to the hotel, opened the web and their books and got to work.

Bowie is sitting on the bed closest to the bathroom, his eyes on the ceiling and his legs crossed at the ankles as he brainstormed the files in his brain, shuffling the tarot cards in his hand as a fidget.

Dean sat at the bottom of that bed, cleaning the head of his shotgun, "So, what do you have?"

"A lot of nothing," Sam responds, "Nothing bad has happened in the Miller house since it was built."

"I think Max is lying about something," Bowie pipes, "I don't want to say he killed his dad but I definitely think he knows something."

Dean agrees, "Okay but what about the land?"

"No graveyard, battlefields, tribal lands, or any other kind of atrocity on or near the property," Sam shakes his head.

Bowie's lips tugged down, "Maybe we missed something at the house."

Dean shakes his head, "I'm telling you, I searched that house up and down. There were no cold spots, no sulfur scent, nada."

"And the family said everything was normal?"

"Well, if there was a demon or a poltergeist in there don't you think somebody would have noticed something?"

"So what?" Sam stands, "So, you think Jim Miller killed himself? And my dream was just some sort of freakish coincidence?"

"All we know is that there's nothing supernatural about the house," Bowie reassures, "That doesn't mean there's nothing supernatural at all."

"Maybe it has nothing to do with the house," Sam thinks, reaching up to massage his forehead, "Maybe it's just a— gosh," He's in pain, trying to form a sentence, "Maybe it's connected to Jim in some other way."

"Hey, what's wrong with you?"

Sam drops to the ground, grabbing at his head as he crammed himself into a corner. Bowie and Dean rush up from the other side, moving to his side in panic.

"Hey, Sammy, talk to me! What's going on?" Dean asks.

Sam's grip tightened on Bowie's wrist, his breathing going unsteady.

"You gotta breathe, bud," Bowie says, grabbing his shoulder, "Tell us what's happening."

"It's happening again," He tells them, "Something's gonna kill Roger Miller!"

So, they took off.

Bowie had never seen his brothers so quiet on the drive to Roger Miller's house. It weighted on the Chevy like a pile of stone, suffocating them as they avoided the obvious.

Sam.

"You okay?" Dean asks.

Sam glanced at him, "Yeah."

"If you're gonna hurl, I'll pull the car over," Dean jokes.

"I'm fine, just drive."

"Alright."

Another wave of silence made Bowie roll his eyes in the background.

"For damn sake," Bowie slides forward, crossing his arms over the bench seat, "Sam, just tell us how you feel, so we don't have to keep walking eggshells around you."

Blunt? Yes. But effective.

Sam sighs in defeat, "I'm scared. . ." He admits, "As if these nightmares weren't bad enough, now I'm seeing things when I'm awake? And these visions, or whatever, they're getting more intense and painful."

"Come on, man. It will be alright," Dean assures, "You'll be fine."

"But what is it about the Millers?" Sam continues, feeling frustrated, "Why am I connected to them? Why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me?"

"Sam, if we knew all the answers this case would be solved," Bowie reminds.

"We'll figure it out, okay?" Dean adds, "We face the unexplainable every single day, this is just another thing."

"No. It's never been us," Sam shakes his head, "It's never been in the family like this. Tell the truth! You both can't tell me this doesn't freak you out!"

Bowie slowly leans back, "Of course it freaks us out!" He responds. Dean glares at him from the mirror, but he continues, "Is this not supposed to freak us out? What does it matter?"

Dean looked hesitant to agree. 'What does it matter?' Was an understatement to him.

"We're still going to be by your side," Bowie says, "You're still our brother. It doesn't change that, okay?"

Sam nods, exhaling with relief.

By the time they had gotten to the apartment complex, Roger's blood had been spilled all over the living room window. He hadn't listened to them when they tried to stop him from going inside, and now they needed to leave before anyone saw them there.

"I'm telling you, there was nothing there," Dean explains as they rushed to the car on the other side of the street, "There's no signs, either, just like the Miller house."

"I saw something in the vision," Sam remembers, "Like a dark shape. Something was stalking Roger."

Bowie sighed, "We didn't see anyone leave or enter the building."

"Well, whatever it was, we can be sure it's not connected to their house," Dean responds.

"No, but it's connected to the family itself!" Sam suggests, "So, what do you think, like a vengeful spirit?"

Bowie frowns in thought, "A few have been known to latch onto families, follow them for years."

"Banshees?" Sam also suggests, opening the door for Bowie.

"Basically like a curse," Dean corrects, "Maybe Roger and Jim Miller got involved in something heavy, something curse-worthy."

"And now something's out for revenge," Sam nods, "And the men in their family are dying."

Bowie frowns, "I don't think so. If it were going for the men in that family, then Max would'be died with his father, why would it wait when he was right there too?"

Sam shook his head, "It's the only thing that makes sense and matches the timeline."

Bowie raised an eyebrow, "So, we're just ruling Max out for being the killer? He gives me negative vibes."

Dean scoffs, "Everything gives you negative vibes."

"And I'm usually always right."

Sam sighed, "Maybe Max is in danger?"

"Let's figure it out before he is."

"Well, I know one thing I have in common with these people," Sam thinks, "Both our families are cursed."

"Our family's not cursed!" Dean defends.

Bowie lets out a heavy laugh, "Ha!"

"We've just had our dark spots," He corrects.

"Our dark spots are pretty dark," Sam chuckles.

Bowie jerks a thumb at him, "It's almost like our family is fucked up."

Sam looks at him sarcastically, "Our family is fucked up? Wow, didn't notice."

"You're. . .dark," Dean remarks finally.

"Good one."

*·˚ ༘ ➳〔 𝙗𝙤𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙖𝙣 〕 ࿐ ࿔*:

"We found something."

Bowie pins the phone between his ear and his shoulder blade, pacing around the motel room and juggling a stack of newspaper clips in his hands.

Sam and Dean had gone back to the Miller Residence while Bowie hung back for research. Coming up empty handed every time.

"That makes one of us," Bowie sighs, "I can't find a single spec of dirt on this family."

Sam hums on the other end, "Roger and Jim weren't just brothers, they were neighbors too, lived right next to each other."

Bowie raised an eyebrow, "Talk about a close-knit family."

"But the way Max talked about that house," Sam shakes his head.

"Nobody's family is that normal and happy," Dean voiced.

"Let me guess," Bowie's eyes shift to himself in the dirty mirror, "He sounded scared."

"Horrified."

"Signs of abuse," He tells them, "I knew he was lying about something but I couldn't figure out what. Maybe he was trying to protect his mom?"

"Either way, Max isn't telling us everything," Dean continues, "I say we go find the old neighborhood and find out what life was really like for the Millers."

Bowie nods, "I'll meet you there."

One missed step and Bowie drops the pile of newspapers in his hands. He clenches his jaw in annoyance, hoping that finding people would be easier in the future.

With a deep sigh, he kneels down and collects the papers, slapping them hard on the table with frustration.

The table splits in half.

He stands frozen, hand still hovering over where the table should be ─ but was now in shambles at his feet.

"What the. . ." It was an old table, "I don't have time for this."

Or at least that's what Bowie told himself when he grabbed his jacket and his wallet, leaving the motel without another thought on it.

Within the hour he met up with his brothers across town, the pair was speaking to a local in the neighborhood and Bowie was quick to join the conversation with a smile.

"You good?" Dean asked him.

He thinks about the table, "M'fine."

"Have you lived in this neighborhood for long?" Sam asked the man.

"Almost twenty years now," He nods, "It's nice and quiet. Why? Ya'll looking to buy?"

Sam shakes his head, "No, no. Actually, we were just wondering if you recall a family that used to live right across the street."

"The Millers," Dean adds, "They had a little boy named Max."

The man's expression shifted into discomfort, "Yeah, I remember. The brother had a place next door. So, what's this about? Is that poor kid okay?"

Bowie frowns, "Poor kid? What do you mean?"

"Well, in my life, I've never seen a child treated like that."

"He was abused?" Bowie pressed.

"I mean, I'd hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street," He says, "He was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar out of Max─ bruises, broke his arm two times that I know of."

"And this was going on reguarly?" Sam asked.

"Practically every day."

Bowie clenches his jaw, leaning on the man's metal fense, "And you didn't do anything? Say anything?"

The man looked away, "Not much I could do. In fact, that thug brother of his was just as likely to take a swing at the boy, but the worst part was the stepmother."

"Let me guess, she didn't do anything either," He concludes.

"She'd just stand there, checked out. Never lifted a finger to protect him," He explains, "I must have called the police seven or eight times, it never did any good."

Bowie closes his eyes. He was reminded of John. Reminded of all the beating he endured in his childhood, most likely for the same reason Max was─ just because they could.

He was reminded of a younger Dean, who would stand there, checked out himself. Never lifted a finger to help him either.

The emotion had built up until Bowie's hand snapped the metal ball right off the fense line. The three men jumped at the sudden snap as the metal ball rolled in his palm.

"Sorry about that," Bowie falters, confused.

The man waved it off, "Old rusted metal, it's alright."

Sam frowns at him before turning back to the conversation, "You said stepmother?"

"I think his real mom died in some soft of accident─ car accident, I think," He recalls, "Hey, you okay over there?"

Bowie narrows in on Sam, who was grabbing at his forehead with a wince, "Yeah," He grunts out.

Dean motions for them to go, "Thanks for your time."

"Sam? You okay?" Bowie asked, dragging him towards the car.

His eyes roll back into his head and he crashes on the ground.

"Get him into the car, now." Bowie orders, looking around to make sure no one was looking while Dean hauled him up into the car.

"Bowie was right," Sam groans finally when they pull onto the road.

"God, I hate when you say that," He responds, leaning over the bench seat to give Sam water.

"Max is doing it. Everything I've been seeing," He tells them.

"You sure about this?" asked Dean.

"Yeah, I saw him."

"Saw him?" Bowie repeats, "Saw him do what?"

"I don't know, it looked like telekinesis."

Bowie leans back in his seat, "Great. Now we have unstable people with superpowers running around Michagin."

He paused, squeezing the metal ball in his pocket.

"So he's psychic? He's a spoon bender?" Dean pressed.

"I didn't even realize it, but this whole time, he was there. He was outside of the garage when his dad died. He was in the apartment when his uncle died," Sam lists, "These visions─ I wasn't connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to Max."

Bowie frowns, "What connection could you possibly have to Max?"

"I don't get why, man." Sam sighs, "I guess because we're so alike?"

Dean scoffs a bitter laugh, "What are you talking about? Dude's nothing like you. Bowie? Maybe. But you?"

"Hate to say it but Dean is right," Bowie nods, "Max and you grew up very differently."

"But we both have psychic abilities," Sam reminds them, "We're both─"

"You're both what?" Dean snaps, "He's a monster, Sam. He's killed two people and now he's gunning for a third."

"Well with what he went through─ the beatings─"

Bowie reels, "What? You can relate?"

Sam looks back, "That's not what I'm saying, Bowie─"

"Really? Because you're making it sound like you understand exactly what he's going through─"

"Let's stop comparing trauma for a second, alright?" Dean bellows over them.

Sam takes a breath, "I just mean," He starts slow, "To want revenge on those kinds of people, the concept isn't that insane."

"Yeah, but it doesn't justify murdering your entire family," Dean says, "He's no different than anything else we've hunted. Alright? We've got to end him."

"What?" Sam looks between them, "We're not gonna kill Max. Bowie, you of all people─"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Bowie crossed his arms, "What? You think because Max and I are cut from the same cloth that I'll justify murdering people?"

"Jim and Roger─"

"Deserved it," Bowie nods, "But his stepmother? Who was most likely abused by them, too? Any one else that crosses his line of fire? Sam, this isn't up for discussion."

Sam clenched his jaw, "Why are you being so cold about this? Not even a week ago you would've sympathized."

"So then what? Hand him over to the cops and say, 'Lock him up but be careful, he kills with his mind'?" Dean asked sarcastically.

Bowie nods in apprication, "That was a good one."

"Thank you."

"Forget it. No way man," Sam firms.

"Sam─"

"Dean, he's a person. We can talk to him! Promise me you'll follow my lead on this one." Sam begs.

Bowie clenched his jaw, "Then we compromise," He says, "We go in with the intention of saving everyone, if Max get's too out of control, we fight back. Deal?"

Sam and Dean look at each other, waiting for the other to budge first.

"Fine," Dean says.

"Thank you," Sam says, getting out of the car and slamming the door.

"Take him out," Bowie firms.

Dean looks back to him, surprised, "What?"

"The second Max even twitches, shoot him." Bowie orders.

Dean hesitates, then nods, grabbing the gun in the glove compartment and getting out of the car.

*·˚ ༘ ➳〔 𝙗𝙤𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙖𝙣 〕 ࿐ ࿔*:

They opted on kicking open the back door that led into the kitchen, walking in just in time for Max and his mother to get into a fight.

"Fathers?" She asked in confusion.

"What are you doing here?" Max looked tense, his face pale and sweaty.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," Dean began.

Bowie watched cautiously as Max slowly liftened his hand onto the counter. Don't do it, Max.

"Max, could we uh─ could we talk to you outside for a second?" Sam smiled nervously.

"About what?" He asked.

"It's private."

"We wouldn't want to bother your mother with it, right Max?" Bowie says to him.

"We won't be long at all, though. We promise," Sam adds.

Max hesitates, "Okay."

"Great. ."

It happened so fast but for Bowie it was like he was seeing everything in slow motion.

He's standing behind Max, Dean is opening the front door, but the mirror on the wall reveals Dean's torso, where the gun rested in his waistband.

Max sees it.

And without touching it, he slams the front door closed. In fear, he backs away from them, closing the blinds so the room is dark.

"You're not priests!" He yells.

Dean pulls out the gun but Max forced it out of his hand and into his own.

"Max, what's happening?" His stepmother asked.

"Shut up!" He sends her back, off her feet and into the kitchen, her head hitting the counter. He's gripping his head, losing control, "Shut up!"

"Max, calm down!" Sam orders.

"Who are you?!" He demands.

"We just want to talk to you," Sam continues.

"Yeah right! That's why you brought this!" He jerks the gun at them.

Sam glares at his brothers before saying, "That was a mistake. So was lying about who we were, but no more lying, okay? Please, just hear me out."

"About what?"

"I saw you do it. I saw you kill your dad and your uncle before it happened," Sam continues.

Max looked confused.

"You aren't the only gifted person in the room," Bowie tells him.

"I'm having visions, Max, about you." Sam explains.

"You're crazy."

"What? You think you're the only person allowed to do the things you can?" Bowie rebuttals.

"I─I don't─" Max shakes his head.

"So you weren't gonna lunch a knife at your stepmom? Right here?" Sam points to his eye, "Is it that hard to believe, Max? I was drawn here. I think I'm here to help you."

Max was sobbing now, "No one can help me."

"Let me try," Sam begs, "We'll just talk, me and you."

"Not going to happen," Bowie firms.

"You need to get Alice out of here," Sam reminds them.

"No way," Dean says.

The ceiling starts to shake and the floor becomes hard to stand on.

"Nobody leaves this house!"

"And nobody has to, alright? They'll just go upstairs," Sam suggests.

"Sam, I'm not leaving you alone with him," Dean responds.

"Yes, you are." Sam seethes, "Look, Max, you're in charge here, okay? We all know that. No one's gonna do anything that you don't want to do, but I'm talking five minutes here, man."

"Five minutes," He agrees.

"Not without me," Bowie firms.

"Fine," Max agrees, not seeing him as a threat.

Dean is tasked with taking April upstairs, getting her head patched up while Sam and Bowie sat together in the living room.

Max sat across from them, forcing the knife to spin on its point on the coffee table.

"Look, I can't begin to understand what you went through─"

"That's right, you can't." Max snaps.

"I can," Bowie responds. He was standing near the fireplace, arms crossed, "And trust me I've stood where you have."

"Yeah, right." Max says, "You're fine."

Bowie flexed his jaw, "That's just your father talking."

Max looks away in guilt.

"Max, this has to stop," Sam pressed.

"It will. . .after my stepmother."

"No. You need to let her go."

Max shakes his head, "Why?"

"Did she beat you?" Sam responds.

"It's not about that, Sam," Bowie turns to him, looking frustrated, "Stop pretending like that matters. It doesn't."

"Who's side are you on here?" Sam snaps.

"My side," Bowie says seriously, face blank of any emotion. He turns to Max, "Do you know how many times I've wanted to kill my old brother for not doing anything against my stepfather?" He asked Max rehoritcally, "The different between you and I, is I never acted on it. You know why?"

"Because you're a coward," Max says through his teeth, "You don't have the abilities I do to get justice. She never tried to save me, she's part of it to."

"The difference betwen you and I, is that I knew my stepfather was abusing him, too. Just in a different way," Bowie says calmly.

Sam looks between them, not knowing what to say.

"He and I were cut from the same cloth, we just chose to react differently to surive," Bowie continues, "He chose to stay quiet, to not fight back and take it because it hurts less. I chose to keep pushing buttons until it got worse. I can't blame him for suriving, and you can't blame your stepmother either, even if you want to."

Max shook his head, crying, "She didn't protect me."

Bowie felt his heart squeeze. He had said the same thing about Dean.

Sam frowns, "What they all did to you growing up, they deserve to be punished but─"

"Growing up?" He scoffs, "Try last week." Max stands up, lifting his shirt up and revealing the brusies, "My dad still hit me, just in places people wouldn't see it. Old habits die hard, I guess," He turns to Bowie, "Can you relate to that?"

Bowie hesitates, looking at his marks and cuts with a bitter reminder of his own. He looks at Sam knowingly, before slowly pulling up his own shirt.

Little healed over knicks from training accidents, discolored spots on his skin from places that had been hit and healed over multiple times.

"My stepdad used any excuse in the book to put me in danger, Max," Bowie says rawly, "Some are reminders that I have to live with every day," The words made his hearing aids heavy, "So don't sit here and say what you're doing is justifiable. It's not. Killing your father, it must have felt nice. But her? Your stepmother? She'll mark the first innocent life you take before you lash out and kill someone else. Your powers are unstable."

Max shook his head, "That's not true. When I first found out I could move things, it was a gift. My whole life, I was helpless, but now I had this. So, last week, Dad get's drunk. First time in a long time in a long time and he beats me to hell. And then I knew what I had to do."

"Why didn't you just leave?" Sam asked.

"It wasn't just about getting away, just knowing that they'd still be out there. . ."

Bowie thinks about Moe and Len.

He feels his fingernails dig into his palms.

". . .It was about now being afraid. Afraid that they'll. . ."

"Come back," Bowie finished, feeling dazed.

Max nods, "When my dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes. Do you know what that feels like?"

Sam shakes his head, "No."

"He blamed me for everything. For his job, for his life, for my mom's death."

Bowie feels like he's dying. For the first time in weeks he feels his heart slow and wither away in his chest. Hearing these words felt like someone reading a script from his brain out loud.

In front of his little brother of all people.

Max had been living Bowie's life. The only difference is that Bowie got out. He selfishly believed there was no one worse than him but─ at least in this aspect─ he was wrong.

"Why would he blame you for your mom's death?" Sam asked.

"Because she died in my nursery, while I was asleep in my crib," Max explains, "As if it makes it my fault."

Sam looked stunned, "She died in your nursery?"

"Yeah, there was a fire! He gets drunk and babbles on like she died in some insane way. He said that she burned up, pinned to the ceiling!"

Bowie's head pounded, like he was being sucked into a supressed memory.

The creature turned around, it's haunting yellow eyes staring back at the boy. A smile curling on its lips as he pressed his finger against them, warning Bowie to keep quiet.

The child slumped against the closet door, just out of sight when Mary Winchester hovered at the entrance, a tired yawn falling from her lips as she said, "John? John, is he hungry?"

Again, the creature softly shushed.

"Okay," The woman mutters, walking away.

Bowie shook his head, "Go," He whispers to the creature.

"Don't worry," The yellow eyed man says, "I'll come back for you too, alright?" He smiled.

Charging footsteps slammed against the hallway floor, and with a blink from Bowie the man was gone. For a second, he wondered if he imagined the whole thing, but when his mother had busted her way through the door, and looked around in horror, he knew deep down he hadn't.

Because before he could speak about the yellow eyed man, and his vow and what he had done to Sam, Mary had let out a horrible scream. It was so loud and so piercing that Bowie had dropped to his knees, the night-light dropping from his fingers as he clamped his hands over his ears and closed his eyes.

He didn't see the way his mother raised from the floor to the ceiling, or the fear in her eyes when she noticed him there.

Sam thinks about Jessica and his mother, "Listen to me Max. What your dad said about what happened to your mom, it's real. It happened to our mom, too, exactly the same─"

"That's not true─"

"The nursery, the crib, my dad saw her on the ceiling," Sam listed.

"Your dad must've been as drunk as mine."

"No. No, it's the same thing," Sam pressed, "The same thing killed our mothers."

"The demon. . ." Bowie corrects, his eyes heavy as he leaned against the wall.

"That's impossible," Max says.

"This must be why I've been having visions during the day," Sam realized, "Why they're getting more intense. Because you and I must be connected in some way. Your abilities, they started six, seven months ago, right? Out of the blue."

"How'd you know that?"

Bowie grips the metal ball from the fense on his hands.

"Because that's when my abilities started, Max. I mean, yours seem to be much further along but still this means something, right? For someone reason, you and I. . .we were chosen."

"For what?"

"I don't know."

"It doesn't matter," Bowie huffs, "Max, you're not going to keep killing people."

"Bowie stop, he could help!" Sam says, "Max, my brothers and I, we're hunting for your mom's killer, and we can find answers that can help us both. But you have to let us go, you have to let your stepmother go!"

Max looked almost regretful until the memories hit again, "No. What they did to me─ I still have nightmares. I'm still scared all the time, like I'm just waiting for the next beating."

Bowie closes his eyes, failing to gather himself. Max was triggering him.

"I'm tried of being scared," He stands up, "If I do this, it will be over!"

Sam moves in front of him, "Look, don't you get it? It won't. The nightmares won't end, not like this. It's just more pain! And it makes you as bad as them."

"Sam. . " Bowie says lowly, walking up to him, "Sam, he's not going to change."

"No!" Sam pushes him away, begging, "Max, you don't have to go through all this by yourself─"

"Sam! Stop!"

"I'm sorry," Max tells them.

He forces the closet doors open, throwing the pair inside with a phantom force, slamming it shut and pushing the heavy dresser up against it. Trapping them.

"No!" Sam is banging on the door.

Bowie isn't moving, his back pressed up against the closet wall in the dark. He feels suffocated, he doesn't know what to do.

Suddenly, Sam is grabbing at his head, he's having a vision.

"No," Sam cries, turning to Bowie and shaking his shoulders roughly, "He's going to kill Dean! Bowie, are you listening to me?! Do something! He's going to kill, Dean!"

Something in Sam makes the dresser shift, but not completely. He knows that he's the one that did it, he just knows.

"Bowie! Come on!"

Bowie blinks, allowing Sam's words to register before pulling back his fist and slamming it against the closet doors.

It flies off its hinges, the dresser in pieces across the room.

He was breathless, heaving in anger.

"Did you just. . ." Sam falters.

Bowie shakes his head, "Did you just─ move that dresser with your mind?"

"Don't tell Dean," They say together.

"Come on," Sam winced.

By the time Sam and Bowie had rushed up stairs, Max had Dean's gun pointed at his temple. It was hovering off the ground, without anyone touching it.

Bowie had broken the door down with a gentle kick.

"Please. Please, Max!" Sam says, "Max, we can help you alright? This isn't going to fix anything!"

"You're right," Max responds.

"Enough!" Bowie orders. He pulls a long piece of wood off the broken door and pulls his arm back, hoping the hit the gun in the air and away from everyone else.

But Max was faster, turning the gun just enough to shoot himself in the head just as the sharp piece of wood slams through the back wall.

Everyone is still.

Silent.

They stayed silent even when the police showed up. Even when they dragged the body away and took everyone's statements.

Alice lied through her teeth about the situation before the brothers could ask her to.

It wasn't until they were walking to the car did Sam speak.

"If I just said something else," He blames himself, "Gotten through to him somehow."

"Don't do that," Dean shakes his head.

"Do what?"

"Torture yourself. It wouldn't have mattered what you said," Dean explains, "Max was too far gone."

"When I think about how he looked at me, right before. . ." Sam sighs, "I should've done something."

"Come on, man. You risked your life. I mean, yeah, maybe if we'd gotten there twenty years earlier," Dean says, getting out his keys, "Well I'll tell you one thing."

"We're lucky we had dad," Sam firms, not realizing how insenstive it sounds.

Dean glances at Bowie, but the man was silent, looking down at his shoes, "Never thought I'd hear you say that."

"Well, it could have gone a whole nother way after mom," Sam says, "A little more tequlia, a little less demon hunting and we would've had Max's childhood."

"I did have Max's childhood," Bowie replied softly, his eyes still on the ground.

Sam swallowed thickly, "All things considered." He gets in the car.

Dean turns to Bowie, "Thank you."

"For what?"

"I might have been upstairs but the walls are thin and I'm nosy," Dean explained, "I heard what you said about me, about. . .dad."

Bowie tries to hold back his emotions, "I said what I thought would make him stop."

"No you didn't," Dean mutters, grabbing his shoulder and giving it a squeeze, "You said the truth, and it took me hearing it to realize that."

"I hate you," Bowie responds calmly, "A part of me will always hate you, Dean," He paused, "But I can't blame you where John is responsible. At the end of the day, when it came to him─"

"We had each other," Dean agrees.

Bowie nods, "Max didn't have that. I need to be thankful for it sometimes."

He gets in the backseat, not saying a word about what he did in that closet.

*·˚ ༘ ➳〔 𝙗𝙤𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙖𝙣 〕 ࿐ ࿔*:

"I've been thinking."

"That's never a good thing."

Bowie holds a smile at Dean's jab, grabbing his things from the Motel room and into the car for their next adventure.

"I'm serious," Sam rolled his eyes, "I've been thinking. Why would this demon or whatever it is, why would it kill Mom and Jessica and Max's mother? What does it want?"

"No idea," Dean shrugs.

"Well, do you guys think maybe it was after us? Max and me." Sam continues.

Bowie pauses his packing.

"Don't worry," The yellow eyed man says, "I'll come back for you too, alright?" He smiled.

He clears his throat, "Because you both can do things others can't?"

"Maybe," Sam frowns, "I mean, either telekinesis or premonitions or. . ." He hesitates, "Super strength and senses."

"Who has super strength and sense?" Dean scoffs.

Bowie glares at him.

"It's an example," Sam corrects, "Either way, we both had abilities, you know? Maybe it was after us for some reason."

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

"Then what is it about?" Sam asked.

"It's about that damn thing that did this to our family," Dean motions between all three of them, "The thing that we're going to find, the thing that we're going to kill. That's all."

Sam glanced at Bowie, then shook his head, "Actually, there's something else, too."

"Sam. . .stop. . ." Bowie's eyes started to water, everything was crashing down now, overwhelming him.

"Oh, gee. What now?" Dean asked.

"When Max locked us in that closet─"

"Sam, shut up!" Bowie raised his voice.

"He needs to know!" He snapped back.

Dean sits on the bed, looking between them, "Come on, stop scaring me here."

"When Max locked us in that closet. With that big cabinet against the door, I moved it." Sam explained.

"Okay, you got more upper-body strength than I give you credit for," Dean says.

"No, man. I moved it like Max," He corrects, "And Bowie finished it. . .like Max."

Dean turns to Bowie, surprised, "What is he talking about?"

Bowie shakes his head, "It was adrenaline." He denines.

"No," Sam says, "No, you can't deny it anymore, Bowie. The things you've been able to do. The Wendigo in the woods, the foot patterns, the knowing when danger is near─"

"It's called being a good hunter," Bowie raised his voice, "I am a good hunter," His voice cracked.

"Then why is the kitchen table split in half outside?" Sam accused, "It was fine before we left, what happened?"

Bowie couldn't respond.

Dean holds out a wrench, "One of you bend this."

Sam scoffs, "I can't turn it on and off, Dean─"

Bowie grabs the wrench in Dean's hand and bends it backwards, scared.

"No, fucking way─" Dean falters backwards, dropping the wrench.

Bowie shakes his head, "This isn't happening."

"Yes it is," Sam says, "I saw Dean die, and it just came out of me like a punch, like you do."

"We aren't the same, Sam," Bowie denies.

"Aren't you worried?!" Sam asked them, "Dean? Aren't you worried that Bowie and I could turn into Max or something?"

"Fuck you," Bowie snapped.

"Hey!" Dean bellows, gaining their attention, "No, I don't. You know why? Because you both got one advantage that Max didn't have. Me."

"You?" Sam repeats.

Dean shrugs on his jacket, "As long as I'm around, nothing bad's gonna happen to you two."

Bowie's shoulders ease, "I don't have superpowers, I'm just strong. That's all."

"I believe you," Dean says calmly, shrugging. Bowie didn't think he did, "But I know what we need to do about Sam's premonitions. I know where we have to go."

"Where?"

Dean grins, "Vegas."

Bowie deadpans, grabbing the last bag, "And to think you'd take this serious."

"What?" Dean follows them out, "Oh, come on, man! Wait for me!"

[ A WELL OVERDUE CHAPTER,, the fact I'm almost done with season 1 is insane, hopefully I'm keeping you guys hooked. ]