The following day, Nadia and the boys went to Mr. McGregor's house to talk to him. Like most people they encountered, he was skeptical of the sudden strangers standing on his porch. But when he learned that they were friends with his son, he was more than willing to speak with them.
Mr. McGregor was a gentle and kind man. It was almost unexpected for those who knew his son displayed contrasting traits. There was a deep sadness in his blue eyes. He wasn't tall or skinny, and his house was very old and plain with its dark green walls and brown accents.
"So, you were friends with Dirk?" Mr. McGregor brought them to the living room.
"Yes, sir, in high school," answered Sam as they looked around.
"I don't recall Dirk having many friends at Truman. Here, sit. Sit down."
They sit on the couch, with Dean in between and Mr. McGregor sitting opposite in a chair.
"So, when did Dirk pass?" Nadia wondered.
"He was eighteen."
"What happened to him?" asked Sam.
"Well, there was, first, drinking, then drugs, and then too many drugs. And then he just slipped through my fingers."
Mr. McGregor answered their questions with ease but it was obvious that it was difficult for him to recall losing his son.
"It was my fault. I should have seen it coming, you know? Dirk, he, uh. . . he had his troubles."
"What kind of troubles?" asked Dean.
Mr. McGregor paused for a moment. "School was never easy for Dirk. We didn't have much money, and, well, you know, kids. . . they can be cruel . . . They picked on him."
Sam frowned, "they picked on him?"
Mr. McGregor nodded. "They called him poor and dirty and stupid. They even had a nickname for him: Dirk the jerk."
Nadia could feel Sam tense. The younger Winchester gulped as guilt eased its way into his soul. So wracked with remorse, he looked away.
"And after what happened to his mother, he. . ."
"His mother?"
"Yeah, Jane, my wife. She died when Dirk was thirteen. Cancer."
Dean looked down; even he felt sorry for the kid.
"I was working three jobs, so it fell to Dirk to take care of her. And he was a great kid. He made sure Jane got her medicine. He helped her, cleaned up after her. But, you know, you. . .you watch somebody die slow, waste away to nothing. . . it does things to a person. Horrible things."
Sam noticed a picture on the fireplace of Dirk when he was younger. He looked innocent and happy.
"I didn't know about his mother."
"He. . . he wouldn't talk about her, not even to me. Lot of anger in that boy."
"I'm sorry." Sam apologized for more than Mr. McGregor would ever know.
Mr. Gregor's eyebrows furrowed; he was taken aback.
Dean smiles innocently.
"Oh, that's . . ."
"Where do you keep that?"
Despite his suspicions, Mr. McGregor answered: "On my bus, in my Bible."
"That's beautiful," Nadia smiled sadly. She'd mostly been quiet and empathized with Mr. McGregor's heartbreak. She'd been fighting the urge to speak about what was going on in his heart, but couldn't help herself.
"Listen, Mr. McGregor. I know you don't know me. But I really feel that you should forgive yourself. Your wife and your son might be gone, but that doesn't change that you were there for them in the best way you knew how, and that means something."
Tears welled in Mr. McGregor's eyes.
"I just wish . . . I wish -"
Nadia gets up, kneeling beside him. She holds his hands.
"I wish I could tell him I'm sorry."
"I know, but it wasn't your fault. He couldn't let you back in. He might have really wanted to but the pain . . . He wouldn't want you to carry this burden for the rest of your life. You have to forgive yourself. Come here."
Mr. McGregor stands up, hugging her.
Sam and Dean watched quietly in admiration.
"How'd you know he felt guilty?" Dean asked Nadia, pulling away from Mr. McGregor's house and driving down the street.
"What parent wouldn't feel guilty that they couldn't save their kid?" Nadia took one final look at the house. "I could feel his pain like it was my own. It's true when they say that losing a child is the most painful thing anyone can experience."
"You think he'll heal? Find happiness?"
Nadia sighed sadly, "Only time will tell.".
"Well, what you said back there was good. I think he'll remember that for a long time."
"Yeah," she leans forward, looking at Sam. He'd been staring out the window, quiet. It's important for you to forgive yourself too, Sam." She draws his eyes towards her. "You were both just kids. He didn't know what you were going through when he bullied you either. None of us know what's going on with each other when we're being horrible. Humans take everything personally. It's a human flaw; the way we're wired."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," he says softly.
Nadia patted him on the shoulder. "So, back to the bus, we go, huh?"
"Wish it was that easy," sneers Dean. "Just remembered that the team's got a game tonight. They're takin' the bus."
"Which means one of the kids won't live to see tomorrow," worried Sam.
"Unless we stop them before they leave," Nadia suggests.
"No, Dirk knows the school. It's his playground. Gotta keep him trapped."
Dean smirks, "You thinkin' ambush?"
"That's exactly what I'm thinkin'."