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Sam does everything fully clothed. He sleeps in long sleeves and sweats and swims in what’s practically a wetsuit. When he’s out and about Sam layers clothing over clothing until the only skin you can see is the soft peach of his face.
Sam honestly should’ve expected the night Jessica burned on the ceiling. It was only a few days after Sam had to dispose of the body of someone he’d considered a friend. He still wasn’t quite sure what happened, but following an ear-splitting headache, Sam had grabbed onto one of his closest friends. She died of a heart attack not even seconds later.
The rumble of the Impala’s engine was a familiar and grounding sound during the hour trips between jobs. Sometimes Sam couldn’t help but get sucked back into the memories of the horrific events of the last few weeks.
For now, Dean was the subject of most of his inner monologue. Sam still hadn’t really found out a way to tell him that he had the horrible habit of killing with a touch.
“You a germaphobe or something?” Dean grunted as Sam startled out of his thoughts.
“What?”
“The gloves?”
Sam absently glanced down at the soft leather. It was a pair he’d bought back when he was at Stanford shortly after killing his second accidental victim. He’d tried to pick an inconspicuous colour, but Sam couldn’t really get over the clammy discomfort they brought.
“Just have some ugly scars,” Sam replied.
Dean didn’t fight him, only saying “Whatever you say, princess,” and turning the radio up a bit. Loud heavy metal filled the car as Dean lip-synced and air guitared his way to his own personal bit of stardom.
They’re on the way to Saginaw, Michigan, after Sam experienced a vision of a man’s death. Sam could tell that Dean still wasn’t quite comfortable with the whole ‘psychic Sammy’ business but Sam appreciated that Dean agreed to check it out anyway.
Sam knew that if Dean wasn’t alright with the visions, it’d be a tough sell about the whole touch of death thing.
Dean pulled the Impala up in front of the house, only for them to be too late to actually prevent the guy’s death. There was some questioning, a few mourning family members, and a stoic son. Nothing terribly unusual in their line of work.
It’s when they check into the motel that night that things really start going to shit. Sam opted to take a shower when Dean spilled onto his bed and got into the fast-food they picked up for dinner.
The shower is the one and only place Sam ever took off any of his clothes. The door is always locked. He always double-checked, and he never leaves the bathroom without checking to make sure there’s no skin exposed.
Sam couldn’t afford to make a mistake with his powers. One slip up could mean death for any unfortunate person and he’s not really sure he could live with that right now. Not after Stanford. He’s still not quite sure why he’s even lying to Dean. It started with uncertainty but now it just feels like it’s gone on too long to stop.
The door cried out with age as Sam stepped out of the bathroom dressed in the usual long sleeve shirt, sweats, socks, and a pair of thin gloves he got from a second-hand store in California. They were softer, less stiff, and far more comfortable for sleeping.
Dean was cleaning out the guns when Sam made it back to his bed. Each gun lined up on the covers in neat rows as Dean scrubbed the insides of the barrels.
It was nothing at first, a whisper of pain stirring at the back of Sam’s head as they talked about the case. Until suddenly, it was so blindly intense that Sam couldn’t even make out the room around him, he was getting flashes of another death. Another victim.
As the images paraded across his vision it took everything Sam had to avoid grabbing onto Dean, but he could still feel his brother's hands grabbing his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.
“Hey, what’s going on? Talk to me.”
Sam tried to shake the confusion out of his head, pulling his arms out of Dean’s hold.
“It’s happening again. Something’s gonna kill Roger Miller.”
xXx
The drive to Roger Miller’s was a quiet one, even more so than usual. Not that Sam would’ve expected anything else.
“You okay?” Dean’s voice cut through the silence and Sam was grateful for the break from his thoughts.
“Yeah.”
“If you’re gonna hurl I’ll pull the car over you know, cause the upholstery…” Sam feared to think what Dean would do If he ever lost the Impala. Hell, Sam wondered what he would do if he lost the closest thing he’d ever really had to a home.
“I’m fine.”
“Alright.”
“Just drive.” Sam pulled his gaze towards the window. Roads rushing past his vision just as quickly as the people that inhabited them.
Sam couldn’t help but sigh before admitting what was haunting his thoughts that night. “Dean I’m scared man. These nightmares were bad enough, now I’m seeing things when I’m awake? And these, visions, or whatever, they’re getting more intense. And painful.” Not to mention the killing people part. But Sam left that out.
The concern leaking out of his brother was almost palatable. Underneath the nerves he was thankful he had stuck around, but he couldn’t help but be unsure of what would happen when he found out about all the other stuff.
“Come on man, you’ll be all right. It’ll be fine.”
“What is it about the Millers? Why am I connected to them, why am I watching them die? Why the hell is this happening to me?” The words poured out of Sam’s mouth, blending with the horrors of the last few months.
“I don’t know Sam, but we’ll figure it out. We’ve faced the unexplainable every day. This is just another thing.” Dean’s reassurances were a nice change, but Sam’s bitter thinking won out. The visions accompanying the fear that he could never touch someone again. Never feel the warmth and love that came along with it.
“No. My life isn’t ever gonna be the same, it’s never been in the family. Tell the truth, you can’t tell me this doesn’t freak you out,” Dean looked resigned, stubborn maybe, but more than anything, Sam could feel the determination.
“This doesn’t freak me out.” Not yet. Sam thought, but it will.
xXx
They didn’t make it in time to save Roger Miller. Sam couldn’t help but feel like he killed him himself.
xXx
After a quick chat with Max, they were lead to a suburb containing the Miller’s old house. Both Sam and Dean felt the unease radiating from the neighbourhood. An older man was during yard work out in front of his house and seemed like a good a candidate as any for information.
“Have you lived in the neighbourhood very long?” Sam asked.
“Yeah, almost twenty years now. It’s nice and quiet. Why, you looking to buy?” The man grumbled.
“No, no, actually, we were wondering if you might recall a family that used to live right across the street I believe.”
Dean jumped in. “Yeah, the Millers. They had a little boy named Max.”
“Yeah, I remember. The brother had the place next door. So uh, what’s this about? Is that poor kid ok?” Sam could hear the concern, the type that came from a place of sympathy. Sam had heard it plenty of times when he was switching from school to school.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“Well in my life I’ve never seen a child treated like that. I mean I’d hear Mr. Miller yelling and throwing things clear across the street, he was a mean drunk. He used to beat the tar outta Max. Bruises. Broke his arm two times that I know of.”
“This was going on regularly?”
The questions continued and Sam started to feel more and more for Max. The poor kid had grown up in a tough house with horrible parents. Sam was startled out his thoughts by the buzzes of electricity behind his eyes. Quick bolts of pain signalling an oncoming vision. His face scrunched in pain as his hands raced to grip his head.
“You okay there?” The man asked. Sam barely bit back a wince.
“Uh, yeah.”
Dean reached out for Sam. “Thanks for your time.” As Dean tried to support Sam’s weight Sam shifted and pulled on the sleeve of his shirt to keep Dean from making contact with bare skin. Sam voiced his thanks to the man as the pair left towards the Impala.
But as Sam looked up the world began to spin as he was pushed into the brutal chaos of a vision. The Miller’s kitchen was at the forefront of his mind as Ms. Miller chopped vegetables. Sam froze as his knees buckled and Dean made a grab for his brother.
Ms. Miller cried out. “I don’t know what you mean! You know I never did anything!”
Another voice, Max Miller’s, rang through the kitchen. “That’s right. You didn’t do anything.” The knife that had previously been resting in the hands of Ms. Miller managed to rattle on the chopping board. “You didn’t stop them, not once.”
The knife floated. Defying the laws of gravity as it levitated completely on its own without any hand to support it.
Ms. Miller scrambled till her back was pressed against the wall. “How did you…” Her eyes flooded with fear as she looked upon Max.
Ms. Miller rambled out apologies, but Max refused to believe her and pressed the knife through her eye.
xXx
When the world stopped spinning Sam could feel the worn leather of the Impala. His brother was sat next to him in the driver’s seat as usual. Sam tried to blink the confusion out his head, pulling leather-bound fingers over his face. Dean was uncharacteristically patient as he waited for Sam to speak up.
“It’s Max, he’s been doing everything I’ve been seeing.” Sam groaned, the headache still rearing its ugly head.
“You sure about this?”
“Yeah, I saw him.”
“How’s he pulling it off?”
Sam turned towards the window before shrugging. “I don’t know, like telekinesis?”
“Wait so he’s psychic, a spoon bender?” Dean was of course, understandably skeptical about the whole situation.
The realization of the last few days dawned on Sam. “I didn’t even realize it but this whole time, he was there. He was outside the garage when his Dad died, he was in the apartment when his Uncle died. These visions, this whole time, I wasn’t connecting to the Millers, I was connecting to Max!” Sam paused as the revelation ran through his mind. “The thing is I don’t get why, man. I guess because we’re so alike?”
Faster than Sam could see Dean’s face switched. “What are you talking about. The dude’s nothing like you.”
“We both have psychic abilities, we both-“
“Both what? Sam, Max is a monster, he’s already killed two people, now he’s gunning for a third.” Sam flinched. Would Dean think he was a monster if he found out about Sam’s other abilities? The people he killed?
“Well, with what he went through, the beatings, to want revenge on those people? I’m sorry, man, I hate to say it, but it’s not that insane.” Sam said, trying to defend Max.
“Yeah, but it doesn’t justify murdering your entire family!”
“Dean-“
“He’s no different from anything else we’ve hunted, aright?” Dean pulled into Max’s house and turned to face Sam. “We gotta end him.”
“We can’t kill Max.”
“Then what? Hand him over to the cops and say ‘Lock him up officer; he kills with the power of his mind.’” Sam almost could’ve laughed but the deep pit of fear in his stomach overpowered it.
“No way. Forget it.” Dean turned off the engine.
“Sam-“
“Dean. He’s a person. We can talk to him.” Sam wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. “Promise me you’ll follow my lead on this one.”
Dean thought about it and pulled his gun from the glove compartment. “Alright fine, but I’m not letting him hurt anybody else.”
Sam hurried to leave the Impala, eager to leave the suffocating atmosphere in the car and work on the job.
When Sam and Dean entered the house, Max was already getting ready to kill his Step-Mother. It took some convincing but eventually, Sam managed to get Max to talk. Just as they were almost out of the door though, Dean’s pistol had to show itself. Before Dean could blink the door was slammed shut and each window was covered by aged wooden blinds.
“You’re not priests!” Max ground out. His hands shook as he backed away from the brothers. Dean made the mistake of drawing his gun, training it on Max before it was pulled out of his hands by Max’s telekinesis.
Of course, Ms. Miller had to speak up. Her tongue stumbling over every word. “Max, what’s happening?”
“Shut up.”
It wasn’t enough to get her to stay quiet though. “What are you doing?” Sam wanted to punch the woman, but Max pretty much beat him to hit as he pushed Ms. Miller back into the bench in the kitchen.
“I said shut up!”
Sam raised his hands in surrender. “Max calm down.”
“Who are you?” Max demanded.
“We just wanna talk.”
Max waved the gun around in his hand. “Yeah right, that’s why you brought this!”
“That was a mistake alright? So was lying about who we are, but no more lying okay Max? Just please, hear me out.” Sam pleaded.
“About what?”
“I saw you do it,” Sam remembered the vision. “I saw you kill your Dad and your Uncle before it happened.”
Max froze, eyebrows contorting with confusion. “What?”
“I’m having visions, Max. About you.”
“You’re crazy.” Sam almost laughed. He sort of wished he was nuts.
“So you weren’t gonna launch a knife at your stepmom?” Sam brought a gloved hand to his eye, tapping it. “Right here? Is it that hard to believe Max? Look at what you can do. I was drawn here, I think I’m here to help you.” Sam hoped at least. He didn’t really know much of anything for sure these days.
Sam heard Max’s breath choke on a sob. “No one can help me.” Sam could see the desperation in Max, hell, he’d seen it in himself back at Stanford after realizing he’d never feel normal again.
“Let me try. We’ll just talk, me and you. We’ll get Dean and Alice out of here.”
That’s what pushed Dean to pipe in. “Nuh-uh. Not happening.” Sam heard the clanging of glass as his eyes were brought up to the shaking of a chandelier hung from the ceiling.
“Nobody leaves this house!”
“And nobody has too, alright? They’ll just go upstairs.” Sam tried, knowing that the real challenge would be convincing Dean.
“Sam I’m not leaving you alone with him.”
“Yes, you are. Look, Max. You’re in charge here, alright, we all know that. No one’s going to do anything that you don’t want to do, but I’m talking five minutes here man.” Please just say yes.
“Sam!” Dean glared at his brother.
But Sam could see Max consider his offer. He glanced at his Step-Mother and Sam couldn’t hear the rattling of the chandelier anymore. “Five minutes?” Sam nodded. “Go.”
Sam risked a look at Dean. Trying to reassure him with his eyes knowing full well Dean was only leaving because Sam wasn’t about to take no for an answer.
xXx
Sam sat across from Max on a soft couch in the living room. He took a breath as he watched Max play with a letter opener in the air.
“Max I can’t understand what you went through.”
“That’s right. You can’t.”
“But I know what you’re going through.” Sam thought of his abilities. “Max, this has to stop. You don’t have to kill people.”
Max looked Sam dead in the eye. “It will. After my stepmother-“
“No Max. You need to let her go.”
“Why?”
Sam tried a different approach. “Did she beat you?”
Max’s face scrunched up, he was almost shaking with the rage he felt. “No, but she never tried to save me. She’s a part of it too.”
“What they did to you, what they all did to you growing up, they deserve to be punished-“ Sam was cut off with a bitter scoff.
“Growing up? Try last week.”
Sam tried not to cry out in sympathy for the boy. Max’s chest was covered in splotchy blues and purples, creating a horrific image of abuse.
“My Dad still hit me. Just in places people wouldn’t see. Old habits die hard I guess.”
Sam couldn’t stop the feeling that Max’s Dad deserved what he got. “I’m sorry.”
Max looked up at Sam. “When I first found out I could things it was a gift.” Sam felt an odd spark of jealousy in his stomach. “My whole life I was helpless but now I had this. So last week Dad gets drunk, the first time in a long time. And he beats me to hell, the first time in a long time. And then I knew what I had to do.”
Sam couldn’t imagine Max’s childhood, but there was absolutely zero way he could even imagine using his powers on purpose to try and hurt someone else either. “Why didn’t you just leave?” Sam asked.
“It wasn't about getting away.” Max grimaced as if just the thought it was painful. “Just knowing they would still be out there. It was about...not being afraid. When my Dad used to look at me, there was hate in his eyes.” Sam felt the night he left for Stanford flicker before his eyes. “Do you know what that feels like?”
“No.” Being forced to leave had hurt, but it couldn’t compare to what Max had to have felt. The hatred he had to have seen in his father’s eyes every day.
“He blamed me for everything. For his job, for his life, for my Mom’s death.”
“Why would he blame you for her death?”
“Because she died in my nursery, while I was asleep in my crib.” Sam wondered if his Dad ever felt like that about Sam, felt like Mary would still be alive without him. Hell, Sam had thought it himself before. “As if that makes it my fault.” Max finished.
“She died in your nursery?” Sam tested, his mind probing at the similarities.
“There was a fire. And he’d get drunk and babble on like she died in some insane way. He said that she burned up. Pinned to the ceiling!” Max ground out.
Sam froze, his body overwhelmed with the possibility that the same thing had killed both their Mothers. “Listen to me, Max. What your Dad said, about what happened to your Mom. It’s real.”
“What?”
“It happened to my Mom too, exactly the same. My nursery, my crib, my Dad saw her on the ceiling.”
Max chuckled. But Sam could tell that it wasn’t because he thought Sam was funny. “Your Dad must have been as drunk as mine.”
“No, no. It’s the same thing, Max. The same thing killed our Mothers.”
“That’s impossible.”
“This must be why I'm having visions during the day. Why they're getting more intense. Cause you and I must be connected in some way. Your abilities, they started six to seven months ago right, out of the blue?” Sam asked, a theory forming in his mind as he spoke.
“How’d you know that?” Max’s voice grew uneasy, he looked confused as the memories were dredged up.
Sam thought about his words carefully. “Cause that’s when my abilities started Max. This has to mean something right? I mean for some reason, you and I…” Sam took a breath. “You and I were chosen.”
“For what?”
“I don't know, but Dean and I, my brother and I, we're hunting for your Mom's killer. We can find answers, answers that can help us both, but you gotta let us go Max. You gotta let your stepmother go.”
Sam could see the moment that he’d overstepped. Max shook his head. “No.” Sam’s hope crumbled. “What they did to me. I still have nightmares. I’m so scared all the time like I’m just waiting for the next beating. I’m so sick of being scared, I just want this to be over!” Max cried, his heart aching to get away from the life he’d been given.
“It won't. Don't you get it? The nightmares won't end, Max. Not like this. It's just more pain, and it makes you as bad as them. Max, you don't have to go through all this by yourself.”
Max stayed still, but only for a short moment as he made his decision. Sam could hear a quiet “I’m sorry.” Before he was being flung through the air into a closet. The door slammed shut behind him as a cabinet locked him inside.
Sam banged his fists on the doors. “No. Max!” He begged, but before he could yell another word he felt the painful onslaught of a vision.
The deaths of Ms. Miller and Dean reverberated throughout his brain. The sounds of the gun going off and the image of his brother on the ground.
Then, the sound of the cabinet being dragged away from the closet door, both a noise of opportunity and condemnation. He didn’t really have time to ponder the newfound telekinesis, but some part of him was hopeful that at least some of his abilities didn’t lead to death as he rushed up the old wooden staircase.
Sam burst into the room as Max held the gun in the air. Sam pleaded, begged, anything that could possibly save them all. But Dean just had to jump in. All bravado without anything to back it up against the psychic.
“You want to kill her, you’ll have to go through me first.”
It was like time froze around Sam, he watched as Max’s mouth formed around the beginning of an ‘ok.’ Sam helplessly grasped at the tip of one his gloves, not thinking of anything but the image of Dean with a bullet hole through his forehead. The leather seemed to slide off his hand as his palm was finally free to the open air.
Max almost managed to pull the trigger as Sam grabbed at Max’s bare wrist. Sam felt each finger wrap around his skin. Each millisecond of contact more of a death sentence. And Max, well, Max grabbed uselessly at his chest as the heart attack began, the gun falling towards the floor. Sam could see the horror in his eyes but Sam refused to let go, just in case it wasn’t enough to save Dean.
Dean was still pressed against the closet, watching as Max Miller fell uselessly to the ground. Sam stood over his body, panting even though he hadn’t actually done all that much. He tried to resist the urge to wipe his sweaty hand on the denim of his jeans.
Sam had just killed another person.
Sam felt the fear creep up, he’d become exactly what they would have hunted.
Sam was a killer.
“Sam, Max is a monster, he’s already killed two people, now he’s gunning for a third.”
Oh god. Sam glanced at his brother, vaguely aware of the glove still hanging in his left hand. I’ve just done it again.
His thoughts were interrupted as Ms. Miller ran out of the bedroom as if the devil was on her tail. But neither Sam nor Dean had moved so much as an inch.
Dean chanced a step forward and Sam rushed to pull the leather back over the exposed skin. No matter how uncomfortable the feeling, he would never take the chance that someone could die because his hands felt sweaty.
“Sam.” Dean brought one of his hands up in an attempt to comfort him. “Calm down, alright?” Sam could’ve laughed. “We gotta get out of here before the cops show up.”
Dean’s big brother instinct took over, forcing the previous events to the back burner just so he could think clearly enough to understand that right now, Sam was pretty damn guilty, and they had to skip town immediately.
Sam chanced one last look at Max before bolting for the Impala, Dean hot on his heels.
xXx
The drive was silent, but Sam wasn’t stupid enough to believe it would stay that way for long. A part of him, a huge part of him was praying to anything that he could convince Dean to forget it had ever happened. Just let them keep doing like they were.
Sam fiddled with the tips of his gloves, rolling the leather in between his fingers. He kept his eyes trained out of the window. Not so much as daring to look at Dean.
Finally, after what felt like hours, Dean cleared his throat with a cough.
“You gonna tell me what happened back there?”
Sam considered the words in his head. It was like he was being scolded for something as simple as skipping a class or forgetting to put down salt lines. He stayed silent, waiting for any indication of how the conversations would evolve.
“Sammy, c’mon talk to me man.” Dean offered a glance at Sam, trying to school his expression into something warm and familiar. “Is it like your visions?”
Sam took as quick of a glance as he could manage at Dean, he didn’t see any obvious malice so he tried to test the water. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.” Sam couldn’t keep the shake out of his voice.
“Is that why you wear the gloves?”
It took everything Sam had not to flinch at the question. “Back at Stanford… I killed one of my friends. I just touched her and her-“ Sam had to choke back a sob. “Her heart stopped Dean. I didn’t even mean-“
“Hey, hey, Sammy look at me.” Dean coaxed, his voice an unexpected stability around a torrent of emotions that Sam was struggling to control. “You are still my brother. We’ll figure this out.”
“But Dean-“
“It was a mistake, Sam. It doesn’t make you evil or anything.” Dean quietly reassured. Sam could only imagine what his brother was thinking right now, Dean had just found out his little brother could kill people with a touch and was treating Sam like he was the victim.
The weight of the last few months seemed to topple down on top of him. Constant cases had barely been enough to hold back the torrent of despair that threatened to drag him under every time he pulled his gloves on after a shower. Every time he realized he would never touch his brother again. Would never get to experience a hug or love the same way.
Dean tried to place a hand on Sam’s shoulder, hesitating the whole way down until he made contact with the rough fabric of his jacket. Sam actually did flinch that time, now unable to hold back the tears even though he was still desperate to hold back the ragged sobs.
“Can you tell me about it?”
“Whenever my skin touches someone else’s, they just… they just die Dean, I can’t stop it. I can’t control it, it just happens.” Sam made as much eye contact as he could bear, hoping it made his point even just a tad clearer. “I’ve killed people Dean.”
“Sam, no matter what, you could kill everyone in this town, hell, you could kill Dad, but we not matter what, we are still brothers. I’m not gonna let you go.”
Dean could feel Sam’s resolve crumble underneath the words. He pulled the Impala over to the side of the road and maneuvered his arms around his brother in a way where their skin wasn’t touching. “Just let it out, Sammy. I’ve gotcha.”
Dean’s words could barely be heard over Sam’s tears, but the pair just held on tighter. Because even though Dean was searching for the love of an absent father, even though Sam could kill anyone with his bare hands, and even though the two had been raised in a life they didn’t deserve, they had each other.
At the next stop, Dean came back to the Impala wearing a brand new pair of brown leather gloves.