But Deadly 'verse: Home is Where (1/1)
Title: Home is Where
Author: Bella Temple
Category: SPN, AU, Gen, drama
Rating: Teen
Warnings: AU, some language, original character death
Spoilers: general for season one
Characters: Sam, Dean, Missouri, mention of OCs
Disclaimer: The characters and basic premise within are property of Warner Bros, Eric Kripke, etc. No money is being made off this work of fiction.
Author's note: Part of my But Deadly 'verse. It's really recommended that you read the other fics in the series before starting this one. Hope you all enjoy!
Summary: Missouri goes to Sam and Dean, and she gives them the truth.
Missouri met Sam Winchester in the lobby of Lawrence Memorial Hospital two days after the accident. She knew who he was the moment she saw him, and instead of heading for the front desk to inquire after Carrie Masters, she headed over and paused a few feet from the brightly upholstered chair he was slouched in.
"Sam Winchester?"
When he looked up, Missouri had to take a step back, the wave of his grief, worry, and fear was so strong. She unfolded her hands from across her stomach and held one out to him, palm upwards. "Missouri Mosely. I was a friend of your uncle's."
Sam nodded, his eyes hooded, and took her hand for a shake. Missouri steeled herself for the increase in negative emotions, but couldn't help but furrow her brow at the extra bits that came along with them. "Oh sweetie. You have been having a tough time of it lately, haven't you. I'm sorry about your girlfriend."
To his brother, she suspected, that would be the wrong thing to say. Probably would have gotten a punch in the mouth for it. But Sam merely tensed and pulled his hand away. "How did you know that?"
"I'm a psychic, Sam. And you were thinking about it, just now. Do you mind if I sit with you for a few?"
His expression closed down, but she could feel a slight increase in his fear. He nodded to the chair next to him just the same and she sat down, careful not to brush up against him and chance catching too much more of what he didn't want to show.
"You know --" His voice caught, but he continued on without correcting himself. "-- Uncle Dan?"
"I did," she said, with a brief incline of her head. "Not well, mind you. Met him about a week ago, when he came to request my services. I did what I could for him, but when I heard about the accident, I knew you and your brother would be coming back here. And I knew that we'd have to have ourselves a little chat."
Sam turned his head forward again, mouth set in a firm line. "This is where you ask for our credit card number, right?"
She couldn't help herself -- she smacked him in the arm. "Boy, I look like some two-bit charlatan to you? You come to me, wanting to know if your wife is getting busy with the gardener, then I'd be tellin' you my policy on personal checks. But this is serious. I didn't charge your uncle, and I ain't gonna charge you."
His mouth twitched a few times, and he twisted her head in her direction and back forward, hand coming up to scratch his ear before he answered. "Fine. What do you need to tell me?"
"That can wait until your brother joins us. First, though, I'd like to ask you something."
"What?"
"Why haven't you told Dean about your dreams?"
Sam's hands clenched on the arms of his chair. "How did you --"
"I already told you that, I'm psychic. It's weighing heavy on your mind, Sam. It might help to share it."
"Dean wouldn't believe me."
"Dean's believed a lot more than you've given him credit for, for a lot longer than you'd've thought."
"This is different."
"It's because you're scared."
Sam didn't answer.
"It's understandable, son. I ain't always been this open about my gifts, either. But yours are so powerful. You and your brother could do a lot of good if you learned how to harness them."
"They aren't -- Dean won't --"
"You think he won't trust you, any more."
"I don't know."
"Boy, don't you know your brother better than that?"
"No." Sam turned to look her in the eye, finally. "No, I don't. He's keeping secrets from me, too, you know. He has for years. I don't know what to think about him any more."
"I won't defend him to you, Sam. Don't know him myself save from what I learned from you and your uncle. But I know this: Dan trusted him. And you do, too, you always have. I can't say nothing about what secrets he is or isn't still keeping from you now, but what I see in your mind is that you know, deep down, that he'll do what he can to help you, no matter what." When Sam turned away again, jaw clenched, she sighed. "I know it hurts, Sam. I know you're grieving, and I think things are only gonna get tougher for you before they get easier. But Dean's feeling the same. He's just as hurt and confused. And you two need to be there for each other."
Sam shook his head. "Dan and Dean were never close."
"Dan was a quiet one, I'll give you that. Very reserved. But he loved both of you boys, and you both know that."
"But Aunt Carrie --"
"Carrie and Dean are a whole different story, Sam."
"They haven't gotten along since he was seventeen."
"I suspect -- and again, I only know either of them through you and Dan -- but I suspect that Carrie and Dean were just too similar. Both protective. Both caring almost too much. And both stubborner than mules."
"Dean resents her. For not being Mom."
"That may be true. But loving someone doesn't mean you have to get along. It doesn't even mean you have to much like a person." She took a breath as she felt a presence move past them, then continued, knowing more than ever that what she was about to say was true. "Carrie loved Dean."
"Loved --" Sam repeated, then pushed himself to his feet. "It shouldn't be taking this long. Dean should be back by now."
Missouri looked down to her lap.
"I'm gonna." He ended the sentence abruptly and started off for the front desk. Missouri saw Dean coming out of the elevator before Sam even got there, staring down at the floor, and she pressed her hands together.
"Dean?"
Dean shook his head, hands shoved in his pockets, and headed out the door without glancing back at Sam.
Sam's knees buckled and Missouri hurried over to take his hand again.
She couldn't take away the grief of losing his girlfriend, his uncle, and his aunt so quick after each other. But she could share that burden, even if his brother wasn't ready to.
* * *
The funeral was a joint one -- though Dan had been pronounced dead on the scene and Carrie had lingered, it wasn't hard to have them both ready to be interred on the same day -- and it was held on a sunny afternoon in early May. Sam and Dean took the place of honor, of course, and the crowd was large enough, filled with fellow professors and students from the university as well as friends and neighbors, that Missouri could barely see the two of them, standing side by side in cheap black suits at the graveside. But she made out enough to see the way Sam leaned slightly against Dean, the way Dean's shoulders were held so terribly straight, and the way that his eyes, unlike Sam's, never drifted down to the caskets in front of them.
People grieved in different ways. Missouri knew that as well as anyone. But she saw more than grief in the set of those shoulders.
She wasn't able to meet up with them again until afterwards, when most of the rest of the mourners had started off in twos and threes. The university was hosting the wake, and the boys were clearly in no rush to leave. She hated to intrude upon them, but it was necessary. They had to know what little Dan had known.
She suspected that the fate of more than just their family rested on it.
"Sam. Dean. I am so sorry."
"Missouri," Sam said. His shoulders pulled up, mimicking his brother's stance. Dean shot him a glance, his hands raised and moving questioningly.
"We met at the hospital," Missouri explained. "You hurried off before I could talk to you."
"Missouri's the psychic," Sam said, his shoulder brushing against Dean's. Dean pursed his lips, hands moving again, and Sam watched them intently, looking like he wasn't sure if he should be translating or not.
"Now there ain't no need for that sort of language, Dean Winchester."
Dean's eyes widened.
"Don't need to know any sign language to understand you, boy, you're broadcasting louder than ABC. You'd think with what you know one psychic lady wouldn't be that hard to buy."
Dean's mouth set in a line and Sam let out a weary breath. "You said you had something you needed to tell both of us?"
"I do. And I understand that this isn't the best of times, but I know you two are hoping to rush out of here all over again and I wanted to make sure I had the chance. It's about your uncle."
Dean's gesture was easy to read even without her abilities. Well?
"There ain't no good way to say this, so I'll just come right out. Dan was a psychic. He knew he and your aunt were in danger."
Both boys took a step backwards and Sam immediately spoke for the both of them. "He what? How do you -- is that why he came to you?"
"It is. You ever wonder how it was he and Carrie were at your house all those years ago, when the fire happened? Or why it was he kept all those arcane symbols hanging around?"
"Carrie and Mom were friends. And Dan was theologian."
"Don't suppose you know much about demons, do you, boys. Those signs were for warding them off. Now, I don't know the whole story, but I got the feeling from our talk that Dan had had encounters with evil before. He was determined to keep you boys and Carrie safe."
Dean swallowed. Why are you telling us this?
"Because that demon might just be what came to your family, twenty-two years ago. I ain't got any proof, just a strong feeling, but I've learned to trust those. I think Dan feared it was going to come back for him, and use Carrie to do it." She looked Sam in the eye. "He had dreams of her on the ceiling." Sam sucked in a breath and his eyes flicked to Dean, but Dean was too busy staring at Missouri to notice. "He came to me to learn how to increase his protection and keep the demon away. And I think maybe those protections on the house worked."
"But the accident --"
"You know, there's those who don't like calling car crashes 'accidents'. Say it implies that no one's at fault."
"You think the demon --"
"Can't say for sure, can I? I haven't been able to get close to the car to get a reading, but there's a lingering presence on the corner where it happened. If the demon didn't cause the collision, it surely stopped by to make sure that it was fatal."
Sam grabbed hold to Dean's arm, though Missouri wasn't sure if it was to steady himself or Dean, or to keep either of them from running off right to find the thing that hurt their family right then. "What else do you know about it? The demon?"
Missouri shook her head. "I'm sorry, I've told you everything I know. I'm not a magician -- my gifts are limited. But I think you boys may want to check your uncle's things, see if you can find anything more." She held out her hand hesitantly, then when they didn't pull away, pressed it to the place where their two shoulders met. The weight of their shock and grief nearly made her sway. "But first, you boys have friends waiting for you, over at the wake. You let them help you now, you hear? They might not know all that we do about what goes on in the world, but that doesn't mean they can't support you in your time of grief, here." She pulled her hand away and nodded. "You call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
Dean looked down and away, brows furrowed, but Sam nodded, moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes. "We will. Thank you."
"Don't be thanking me just yet, Sam. You got a long, hard road ahead of you. You boys are meant to do more for this world than anyone will ever fully understand, and there are those who'd like to stop you from doing it. Be careful."
Dean nodded and turned abruptly to walk away. Sam frowned and opened his mouth to shout at him, then just offered Missouri a shrug and hurried to follow. Missouri stood where she was and watched them go before turning back to the graves.
"Dan, I know you and your wife did your best, but you really ought to have taught that boy some better manners." She sighed and turned to head back to her own car, planning to head home and fix herself a large cup of coffee.
She had a little bit more to do for those Winchester boys, just yet.
* * *
The cemetery was dark and nearly empty when she arrived later that night. The only signs that it wasn't completely deserted were the pile of dirt along side the fresh graves of Carrie and Dan Masters and the heavy weight of anger thickening the air.
Dean didn't see her approach, his eyes focused first on the graves in front of him, then up into the air. Missouri held back, watching the black silohuette of his shoulders heave as he cast his shovel to one side and reached into a duffel bag for a large canister of salt. He held it out at arms length over the graves and turned in a slow circle. She stepped into the shadow of a mausoleum to keep from startling him and settled in to wait.
It didn't take long. She watched him heave in a focused breath, and then he opened his mouth.
"Come on, you bastard."
It was quiet, barely more than a whisper, but it carried over the open ground. He swallowed thickly and she could feel the tension in the air as he had to concentrate on forming the words.
"Come out and talk to me."
He turned in a circle again, then thrust the salt out over the graves one more time, sprinkling a small amount into the open air. "COME ON!"
Her throat ached in sympathy for how the sound seemed to rip its way out of him, choking at the end on unshed tears and unspoken words. When his frame started to fold in on itself, she decided it was time to make her presence known.
"They don't always come back, Dean."
He spun, and she saw for the first time that he was armed with more than just the salt canister. He pointed the shot gun in her direction, then barked out a pained laugh and lowered it, turning away, his thoughts broadcasting what his hands were too full and his throat to raw to say. Should've known, nosy bitch.
"I will not tolerate that sort of language, Dean Winchester. I'm here to help."
He snorted, dropping the rifle, and started shaking liberal amounts of salt onto his aunt's grave.
"Your uncle isn't coming back, Dean. He's moved on."
He turned to look at her, light from the moon reflecting faintly off his eyes. How do you know?
"I felt him pass. Felt your aunt do, too."
Coward.
"Don't you be thinking that about your uncle, Dean. He was a good man."
He was a liar.
"And you always tell the truth?"
He stiffened, but raised one shoulder in a beligerent shrug.
"You really believed it, didn't you. All those years, waiting for her to come back to you two, and when she didn't, you finally let yourself believe what the doctors said about you."
He looked up at her sharply, then started pouring the salt onto Dan's body. You don't know anything about it.
"You ain't even gesturing now, Dean. When are you gonna get it through your thick head that I'm psychic?"
He snorted, but she noticed his thoughts didn't broadcast as loudly, after that.
"You're not damaged, boy."
Yes, I am.
"You can speak just as well as anyone else. Just need practice."
He tossed the empty salt can to the side and reached down for the lighter fluid.
"Your momma didn't realize what she was doing to you, all those years ago --"
He whirled on her, then, crossing the distance between them faster than she would have thought possible. His face was so twisted in anger that she felt herself gasp and wondered for the first time if she might have misread the boy, if he were really as dangerous as he wanted people to believe. You don't know ANYTHING about my mother!
"She and Dan were friends, before either of them ever met Carrie."
He froze, and after a moment, she could see him start to tremble. Then he shook his hands in the air and turned back to the graves, pouring the lighter fluid on with even more abandon than he had the salt.
"They faced that demon together. And that night, in the fire, she went back into the house after she got you and Sam to safety."
I don't want to hear this.
"She knew Dan could keep you safe. That's all she ever wanted for you boys."
Wanted us ignorant. Not safe.
"They thought it was the same thing."
They were wrong. He stilled again, hand gripping the can of lighter fluid falling to his side, and she felt the realization wash through him.
"That's right. You learned long ago that Dan and Carrie were fallible. I know it hurts, son, but your momma was, too."
She should have stayed with us. Missouri caught a flash of fire and pain across Dean's mind, a brief image of a nursery, a man with yellow eyes, another man pinned to the ceiling, his face frozen in an expression of fear and pain. A flash of a four year old boy, scared and hurting, thrown into a wall. Of the man on the ceiling vanishing in the fire, and the man with the yellow eyes laughing. He was dead. She should have stayed. She shouldn't have gone back in.
"Oh, Dean," Missouri gasped.
He tensed, then pulled out a book of matches, lighting them and tossing them in one fluid, professional movement. The graves caught, close enough together that it took only the single set of matches, and though Missouri already knew that Carrie and Dan's souls had moved on, she felt as though the last bits of them were letting go. Dean looked up at her, then, his face fully illuminated in the orange light of the fire, eyes drawn and glistening.
Why did they leave me?
Missouri didn't have the answer to that, so she simply stepped forward and opened her arms. He made no move towards her, so she stepped forward again, determined to give him comfort whether he wanted to take it or not.
He stayed stiff in her embrace, his chest shuddering slightly as he held back tears that had been threatening for twenty-two years.
"Let it go, Dean."
She said not tell.
"I know, sweetie."
Never to tell. I saw it all and she said I couldn't tell anyone.
Missouri wanted to curse Mary Winchester, but held it in. That wasn't what this child needed to hear, right now.
"The yellow eyed man. He was the same demon your mother and your uncle faced."
It wants Sam.
She sucked in a breath.
He's hiding things from me. He's going to leave, too.
"Talk to your brother, Dean. Your family's had too many secrets, already."
Can't. Mom said. Never tell. He shook in her arms, the effort of keeping stiff, strong, and silent exhausting him, but he wouldn't let go.
"It's alright, Dean. Your mother didn't want this. She didn't know what she was doing when she told you that."
Never say a word.
"You're allowed to speak, Dean."
He shook his head, pulling away and reaching up to wipe at his eyes. The fire in the graves was already burning low. I have to rebury them.
And just like that, the conversation was over. Missouri stepped back and bit down on a sigh. "You and your brother are going to need help on this. Please, you don't know me enough to promise me anything, but please. Look for that help."
He turned to look at her as he bent for the shovel. Thank you for telling us about Uncle Dan. Sam and I are leaving in the morning.
"Stubborn. Just like your aunt."
You should go now.
She nodded slowly. "Sam has my number."
He turned his back on her without nodding, slamming the shovel into the pile of dirt with a finality which she knew she couldn't argue with. She stepped back and watched him for a moment more before turning to leave.
"Good-bye, Dean Winchester. I hope someday you'll learn the whole truth."
And she hoped like hell that when he did, he'd live to let it set him free.
Continued in Morning Moon
Author: Bella Temple
Category: SPN, AU, Gen, drama
Rating: Teen
Warnings: AU, some language, original character death
Spoilers: general for season one
Characters: Sam, Dean, Missouri, mention of OCs
Disclaimer: The characters and basic premise within are property of Warner Bros, Eric Kripke, etc. No money is being made off this work of fiction.
Author's note: Part of my But Deadly 'verse. It's really recommended that you read the other fics in the series before starting this one. Hope you all enjoy!
Summary: Missouri goes to Sam and Dean, and she gives them the truth.
Missouri met Sam Winchester in the lobby of Lawrence Memorial Hospital two days after the accident. She knew who he was the moment she saw him, and instead of heading for the front desk to inquire after Carrie Masters, she headed over and paused a few feet from the brightly upholstered chair he was slouched in.
"Sam Winchester?"
When he looked up, Missouri had to take a step back, the wave of his grief, worry, and fear was so strong. She unfolded her hands from across her stomach and held one out to him, palm upwards. "Missouri Mosely. I was a friend of your uncle's."
Sam nodded, his eyes hooded, and took her hand for a shake. Missouri steeled herself for the increase in negative emotions, but couldn't help but furrow her brow at the extra bits that came along with them. "Oh sweetie. You have been having a tough time of it lately, haven't you. I'm sorry about your girlfriend."
To his brother, she suspected, that would be the wrong thing to say. Probably would have gotten a punch in the mouth for it. But Sam merely tensed and pulled his hand away. "How did you know that?"
"I'm a psychic, Sam. And you were thinking about it, just now. Do you mind if I sit with you for a few?"
His expression closed down, but she could feel a slight increase in his fear. He nodded to the chair next to him just the same and she sat down, careful not to brush up against him and chance catching too much more of what he didn't want to show.
"You know --" His voice caught, but he continued on without correcting himself. "-- Uncle Dan?"
"I did," she said, with a brief incline of her head. "Not well, mind you. Met him about a week ago, when he came to request my services. I did what I could for him, but when I heard about the accident, I knew you and your brother would be coming back here. And I knew that we'd have to have ourselves a little chat."
Sam turned his head forward again, mouth set in a firm line. "This is where you ask for our credit card number, right?"
She couldn't help herself -- she smacked him in the arm. "Boy, I look like some two-bit charlatan to you? You come to me, wanting to know if your wife is getting busy with the gardener, then I'd be tellin' you my policy on personal checks. But this is serious. I didn't charge your uncle, and I ain't gonna charge you."
His mouth twitched a few times, and he twisted her head in her direction and back forward, hand coming up to scratch his ear before he answered. "Fine. What do you need to tell me?"
"That can wait until your brother joins us. First, though, I'd like to ask you something."
"What?"
"Why haven't you told Dean about your dreams?"
Sam's hands clenched on the arms of his chair. "How did you --"
"I already told you that, I'm psychic. It's weighing heavy on your mind, Sam. It might help to share it."
"Dean wouldn't believe me."
"Dean's believed a lot more than you've given him credit for, for a lot longer than you'd've thought."
"This is different."
"It's because you're scared."
Sam didn't answer.
"It's understandable, son. I ain't always been this open about my gifts, either. But yours are so powerful. You and your brother could do a lot of good if you learned how to harness them."
"They aren't -- Dean won't --"
"You think he won't trust you, any more."
"I don't know."
"Boy, don't you know your brother better than that?"
"No." Sam turned to look her in the eye, finally. "No, I don't. He's keeping secrets from me, too, you know. He has for years. I don't know what to think about him any more."
"I won't defend him to you, Sam. Don't know him myself save from what I learned from you and your uncle. But I know this: Dan trusted him. And you do, too, you always have. I can't say nothing about what secrets he is or isn't still keeping from you now, but what I see in your mind is that you know, deep down, that he'll do what he can to help you, no matter what." When Sam turned away again, jaw clenched, she sighed. "I know it hurts, Sam. I know you're grieving, and I think things are only gonna get tougher for you before they get easier. But Dean's feeling the same. He's just as hurt and confused. And you two need to be there for each other."
Sam shook his head. "Dan and Dean were never close."
"Dan was a quiet one, I'll give you that. Very reserved. But he loved both of you boys, and you both know that."
"But Aunt Carrie --"
"Carrie and Dean are a whole different story, Sam."
"They haven't gotten along since he was seventeen."
"I suspect -- and again, I only know either of them through you and Dan -- but I suspect that Carrie and Dean were just too similar. Both protective. Both caring almost too much. And both stubborner than mules."
"Dean resents her. For not being Mom."
"That may be true. But loving someone doesn't mean you have to get along. It doesn't even mean you have to much like a person." She took a breath as she felt a presence move past them, then continued, knowing more than ever that what she was about to say was true. "Carrie loved Dean."
"Loved --" Sam repeated, then pushed himself to his feet. "It shouldn't be taking this long. Dean should be back by now."
Missouri looked down to her lap.
"I'm gonna." He ended the sentence abruptly and started off for the front desk. Missouri saw Dean coming out of the elevator before Sam even got there, staring down at the floor, and she pressed her hands together.
"Dean?"
Dean shook his head, hands shoved in his pockets, and headed out the door without glancing back at Sam.
Sam's knees buckled and Missouri hurried over to take his hand again.
She couldn't take away the grief of losing his girlfriend, his uncle, and his aunt so quick after each other. But she could share that burden, even if his brother wasn't ready to.
* * *
The funeral was a joint one -- though Dan had been pronounced dead on the scene and Carrie had lingered, it wasn't hard to have them both ready to be interred on the same day -- and it was held on a sunny afternoon in early May. Sam and Dean took the place of honor, of course, and the crowd was large enough, filled with fellow professors and students from the university as well as friends and neighbors, that Missouri could barely see the two of them, standing side by side in cheap black suits at the graveside. But she made out enough to see the way Sam leaned slightly against Dean, the way Dean's shoulders were held so terribly straight, and the way that his eyes, unlike Sam's, never drifted down to the caskets in front of them.
People grieved in different ways. Missouri knew that as well as anyone. But she saw more than grief in the set of those shoulders.
She wasn't able to meet up with them again until afterwards, when most of the rest of the mourners had started off in twos and threes. The university was hosting the wake, and the boys were clearly in no rush to leave. She hated to intrude upon them, but it was necessary. They had to know what little Dan had known.
She suspected that the fate of more than just their family rested on it.
"Sam. Dean. I am so sorry."
"Missouri," Sam said. His shoulders pulled up, mimicking his brother's stance. Dean shot him a glance, his hands raised and moving questioningly.
"We met at the hospital," Missouri explained. "You hurried off before I could talk to you."
"Missouri's the psychic," Sam said, his shoulder brushing against Dean's. Dean pursed his lips, hands moving again, and Sam watched them intently, looking like he wasn't sure if he should be translating or not.
"Now there ain't no need for that sort of language, Dean Winchester."
Dean's eyes widened.
"Don't need to know any sign language to understand you, boy, you're broadcasting louder than ABC. You'd think with what you know one psychic lady wouldn't be that hard to buy."
Dean's mouth set in a line and Sam let out a weary breath. "You said you had something you needed to tell both of us?"
"I do. And I understand that this isn't the best of times, but I know you two are hoping to rush out of here all over again and I wanted to make sure I had the chance. It's about your uncle."
Dean's gesture was easy to read even without her abilities. Well?
"There ain't no good way to say this, so I'll just come right out. Dan was a psychic. He knew he and your aunt were in danger."
Both boys took a step backwards and Sam immediately spoke for the both of them. "He what? How do you -- is that why he came to you?"
"It is. You ever wonder how it was he and Carrie were at your house all those years ago, when the fire happened? Or why it was he kept all those arcane symbols hanging around?"
"Carrie and Mom were friends. And Dan was theologian."
"Don't suppose you know much about demons, do you, boys. Those signs were for warding them off. Now, I don't know the whole story, but I got the feeling from our talk that Dan had had encounters with evil before. He was determined to keep you boys and Carrie safe."
Dean swallowed. Why are you telling us this?
"Because that demon might just be what came to your family, twenty-two years ago. I ain't got any proof, just a strong feeling, but I've learned to trust those. I think Dan feared it was going to come back for him, and use Carrie to do it." She looked Sam in the eye. "He had dreams of her on the ceiling." Sam sucked in a breath and his eyes flicked to Dean, but Dean was too busy staring at Missouri to notice. "He came to me to learn how to increase his protection and keep the demon away. And I think maybe those protections on the house worked."
"But the accident --"
"You know, there's those who don't like calling car crashes 'accidents'. Say it implies that no one's at fault."
"You think the demon --"
"Can't say for sure, can I? I haven't been able to get close to the car to get a reading, but there's a lingering presence on the corner where it happened. If the demon didn't cause the collision, it surely stopped by to make sure that it was fatal."
Sam grabbed hold to Dean's arm, though Missouri wasn't sure if it was to steady himself or Dean, or to keep either of them from running off right to find the thing that hurt their family right then. "What else do you know about it? The demon?"
Missouri shook her head. "I'm sorry, I've told you everything I know. I'm not a magician -- my gifts are limited. But I think you boys may want to check your uncle's things, see if you can find anything more." She held out her hand hesitantly, then when they didn't pull away, pressed it to the place where their two shoulders met. The weight of their shock and grief nearly made her sway. "But first, you boys have friends waiting for you, over at the wake. You let them help you now, you hear? They might not know all that we do about what goes on in the world, but that doesn't mean they can't support you in your time of grief, here." She pulled her hand away and nodded. "You call me if you need anything. Anything at all."
Dean looked down and away, brows furrowed, but Sam nodded, moisture collecting in the corners of his eyes. "We will. Thank you."
"Don't be thanking me just yet, Sam. You got a long, hard road ahead of you. You boys are meant to do more for this world than anyone will ever fully understand, and there are those who'd like to stop you from doing it. Be careful."
Dean nodded and turned abruptly to walk away. Sam frowned and opened his mouth to shout at him, then just offered Missouri a shrug and hurried to follow. Missouri stood where she was and watched them go before turning back to the graves.
"Dan, I know you and your wife did your best, but you really ought to have taught that boy some better manners." She sighed and turned to head back to her own car, planning to head home and fix herself a large cup of coffee.
She had a little bit more to do for those Winchester boys, just yet.
* * *
The cemetery was dark and nearly empty when she arrived later that night. The only signs that it wasn't completely deserted were the pile of dirt along side the fresh graves of Carrie and Dan Masters and the heavy weight of anger thickening the air.
Dean didn't see her approach, his eyes focused first on the graves in front of him, then up into the air. Missouri held back, watching the black silohuette of his shoulders heave as he cast his shovel to one side and reached into a duffel bag for a large canister of salt. He held it out at arms length over the graves and turned in a slow circle. She stepped into the shadow of a mausoleum to keep from startling him and settled in to wait.
It didn't take long. She watched him heave in a focused breath, and then he opened his mouth.
"Come on, you bastard."
It was quiet, barely more than a whisper, but it carried over the open ground. He swallowed thickly and she could feel the tension in the air as he had to concentrate on forming the words.
"Come out and talk to me."
He turned in a circle again, then thrust the salt out over the graves one more time, sprinkling a small amount into the open air. "COME ON!"
Her throat ached in sympathy for how the sound seemed to rip its way out of him, choking at the end on unshed tears and unspoken words. When his frame started to fold in on itself, she decided it was time to make her presence known.
"They don't always come back, Dean."
He spun, and she saw for the first time that he was armed with more than just the salt canister. He pointed the shot gun in her direction, then barked out a pained laugh and lowered it, turning away, his thoughts broadcasting what his hands were too full and his throat to raw to say. Should've known, nosy bitch.
"I will not tolerate that sort of language, Dean Winchester. I'm here to help."
He snorted, dropping the rifle, and started shaking liberal amounts of salt onto his aunt's grave.
"Your uncle isn't coming back, Dean. He's moved on."
He turned to look at her, light from the moon reflecting faintly off his eyes. How do you know?
"I felt him pass. Felt your aunt do, too."
Coward.
"Don't you be thinking that about your uncle, Dean. He was a good man."
He was a liar.
"And you always tell the truth?"
He stiffened, but raised one shoulder in a beligerent shrug.
"You really believed it, didn't you. All those years, waiting for her to come back to you two, and when she didn't, you finally let yourself believe what the doctors said about you."
He looked up at her sharply, then started pouring the salt onto Dan's body. You don't know anything about it.
"You ain't even gesturing now, Dean. When are you gonna get it through your thick head that I'm psychic?"
He snorted, but she noticed his thoughts didn't broadcast as loudly, after that.
"You're not damaged, boy."
Yes, I am.
"You can speak just as well as anyone else. Just need practice."
He tossed the empty salt can to the side and reached down for the lighter fluid.
"Your momma didn't realize what she was doing to you, all those years ago --"
He whirled on her, then, crossing the distance between them faster than she would have thought possible. His face was so twisted in anger that she felt herself gasp and wondered for the first time if she might have misread the boy, if he were really as dangerous as he wanted people to believe. You don't know ANYTHING about my mother!
"She and Dan were friends, before either of them ever met Carrie."
He froze, and after a moment, she could see him start to tremble. Then he shook his hands in the air and turned back to the graves, pouring the lighter fluid on with even more abandon than he had the salt.
"They faced that demon together. And that night, in the fire, she went back into the house after she got you and Sam to safety."
I don't want to hear this.
"She knew Dan could keep you safe. That's all she ever wanted for you boys."
Wanted us ignorant. Not safe.
"They thought it was the same thing."
They were wrong. He stilled again, hand gripping the can of lighter fluid falling to his side, and she felt the realization wash through him.
"That's right. You learned long ago that Dan and Carrie were fallible. I know it hurts, son, but your momma was, too."
She should have stayed with us. Missouri caught a flash of fire and pain across Dean's mind, a brief image of a nursery, a man with yellow eyes, another man pinned to the ceiling, his face frozen in an expression of fear and pain. A flash of a four year old boy, scared and hurting, thrown into a wall. Of the man on the ceiling vanishing in the fire, and the man with the yellow eyes laughing. He was dead. She should have stayed. She shouldn't have gone back in.
"Oh, Dean," Missouri gasped.
He tensed, then pulled out a book of matches, lighting them and tossing them in one fluid, professional movement. The graves caught, close enough together that it took only the single set of matches, and though Missouri already knew that Carrie and Dan's souls had moved on, she felt as though the last bits of them were letting go. Dean looked up at her, then, his face fully illuminated in the orange light of the fire, eyes drawn and glistening.
Why did they leave me?
Missouri didn't have the answer to that, so she simply stepped forward and opened her arms. He made no move towards her, so she stepped forward again, determined to give him comfort whether he wanted to take it or not.
He stayed stiff in her embrace, his chest shuddering slightly as he held back tears that had been threatening for twenty-two years.
"Let it go, Dean."
She said not tell.
"I know, sweetie."
Never to tell. I saw it all and she said I couldn't tell anyone.
Missouri wanted to curse Mary Winchester, but held it in. That wasn't what this child needed to hear, right now.
"The yellow eyed man. He was the same demon your mother and your uncle faced."
It wants Sam.
She sucked in a breath.
He's hiding things from me. He's going to leave, too.
"Talk to your brother, Dean. Your family's had too many secrets, already."
Can't. Mom said. Never tell. He shook in her arms, the effort of keeping stiff, strong, and silent exhausting him, but he wouldn't let go.
"It's alright, Dean. Your mother didn't want this. She didn't know what she was doing when she told you that."
Never say a word.
"You're allowed to speak, Dean."
He shook his head, pulling away and reaching up to wipe at his eyes. The fire in the graves was already burning low. I have to rebury them.
And just like that, the conversation was over. Missouri stepped back and bit down on a sigh. "You and your brother are going to need help on this. Please, you don't know me enough to promise me anything, but please. Look for that help."
He turned to look at her as he bent for the shovel. Thank you for telling us about Uncle Dan. Sam and I are leaving in the morning.
"Stubborn. Just like your aunt."
You should go now.
She nodded slowly. "Sam has my number."
He turned his back on her without nodding, slamming the shovel into the pile of dirt with a finality which she knew she couldn't argue with. She stepped back and watched him for a moment more before turning to leave.
"Good-bye, Dean Winchester. I hope someday you'll learn the whole truth."
And she hoped like hell that when he did, he'd live to let it set him free.
Continued in Morning Moon