Occam's Razor Part 10
A note in John's journal as decoded by Sam:
October 1992. Cried after speaking with a child's ghost.
*
A note in John's journal as decoded by Sam:
December 1992. Proving to be an adept tracker.
{C}{C}{C}
***
There's another journal.
In the days that followed Missouri's cure, Sam didn't just see the world as he had before; he saw it better. It was as if he'd suddenly aged ten years, or gone from watching a small, crappy motel-room TV to a huge, perfect, modern movie screen.
There's another journal.
He saw the bags under Dean's eyes, the slump of his shoulders, the weariness and worry and exhaustion.
There's another journal.
Saw his father's pain, loneliness, paranoia, and complete lack of mercy.
There's another journal.
Saw Missouri's fatigue, her weariness of knowing so much truth, her inability to sleep with all the hearts crying for help in the dark.
There's another journal.
Saw the occasional flash of yellow across his own eyes.
There's another journal.
Dean still slept beside him in the double guest room bed. Sam watched him flinch in his sleep, listened to the slight hitches in his brother's breathing at the slightest sound, felt the tightening of his arm around his own shoulders whenever Sam shifted, an automatic, almost desperate grip. It had never occurred to him that Dean was trying to hang on because he felt as close to the edge as Sam.
"Shhh," he tried one night, when he'd rolled over and Dean's arm tightened. He couldn't equal Dean's solid, tender calm as well, but his brother's frown loosened and Dean sank back into a deep sleep. Sam shivered, fully aware for the first time in his life how much his brother needed him--and how wrong it was that he did.
I'm a monster, Dean. You kill monsters. You're so good at killing monsters.
Sam inched closer until he was pressed against his brother's chest, relieved when Dean's arm tightened, automatically, once more. He missed his brother's not-so-terrible humming, and how it managed to block out and steady his whirling thoughts, the endless litany of there's another journal there's another journal there's another journal.
Missouri had breakfast ready every morning, all smiles while she explained her plans for the day and what she'd like from them. Dean was generally assigned a long list of chores while Sam was instructed to rest, something Sam couldn't help but laugh to himself about, though he always split the work when Missouri was out of earshot.
The fourth morning of their stay, Missouri was quieter, watching them eat and silently adding more eggs to Sam's plate, casting him a you better eat that look when he opened his mouth to refuse.
"Dean," she pronounced, as grandly as if she were about to tell him his destiny and how best to follow it, instead of informing him he'd be mopping her kitchen floor, "I'm going to give you a grocery list."
"Sure," Dean sighed. "Sammy and me will--"
"No, Sam's going to stay here. You'll only be an hour or two."
Dean stared at her as if she'd just told him to take his little brother out back and decapitate him. "But--"
"You haven't let him out of your sight since this mess has begun, and that's just what he needed. But now he's well on his way to healin', and you need to do the same."
Dean turned his wide-eyed stare on Sam, and for the first time ever, Sam understood just how much the fear of losing his family ruled his brother's life.
"Dean, it's fine," he said. "You should do something without me. Go for a drive or to the arcade."
"I could...take you to town and...meet you," he tried.
"No," Missouri said firmly. "You're going to take my car and go on your own and you're going to come back and see that he's just as you left him. It'll be good for both of you."
Dean set his jaw. "No."
"Dean--" Sam started.
"No. I threw you to a psychic once. I'm never doing it again."
Missouri shook her head. "Sam, I'm gonna leave this to you before I go for my lucky spoon."
Sam nodded. Dean glared at her as she stomped off toward the living room. "Dean--"
"No, Sammy."
"She fixed me."
"She's a psychic."
"She's a psychic who fixed me."
"I am not making the same mistake again!"
"You're going to the grocery store. What, you think while you're gone I'm going to ask her to pop in to my head and burn a hole in my subconscious while you're gone?"
Dean winced. "Sammy--"
"She's right, Dean. I have to go back to school. You have to go back to school."
"We've already talked about that."
"Fine. I have to go back to school and you have to study for a GED." Dean's jaw locked once more. "Dean, I'll be fine, I promise. I trust Missouri. You made me trust Missouri. What's different now?"
Dean just shook his head. "No. I don't like it."
"So...what, you're never going to go on another date? Or play pool? Or go to the arcade? You're just going to sit around and make sure my head doesn't break again?"
"If that's what it takes."
Sam couldn't stop a warm, adoring smile. Dean rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. "I need time too, okay? I...you were so...different, Sammy."
"You did the right things, Dean," he said softly. "I really--"
"Stop, just--don't go there, Sam." His breath hitched.
"Dean--"
"No. That shit shouldn't have gone down in the first place, I sure as hell am not going to sit here and listen to you thank me for trying to clean it up afterwards."
Sam swallowed over a growing lump in his own throat. "Go to the store," he managed. "It's just the store. I'll be fine."
Dean took a slow breath and rubbed the back of his neck before turning his green eyes back to his brother. "You leave your phone on. And if you...feel anything like before--"
"I'll call."
"What if you can't talk?"
"I'll text."
"What if you can't read?"
"I'll get Missouri to do it. She'll know what's going on."
"What if she's the reason you can't talk or read?"
"Then I'll run to town and meet you at the car, and you'll know why." Dean scoffed. "Hey," Sam smiled, "you've been running with me. You said yourself my time's been good."
"Yeah. For a scrawny midget." Dean's attempted glare crumpled when he saw his brother's grin. "Just..."
"I will."
"You can't--"
"I won't."
"If anything--"
"I promise."
Dean rolled his eyes. "I hate you," he said, and ruffled Sam's dark head, dropping his arm and giving him a tender squeeze that was anything but hateful. Missouri emerged in the doorway with a shopping list and her usual no-nonsense attitude.
"Now then," she said. "You mess up my car and you won't live to tell about it."
Dean followed her into the entryway, scanning the list. "You're not serious."
"Deadly," she snapped, opening the door to the porch.
"Tampons?"
"Tampax only."
"Insult to injury, Missouri."
"Takes a real man to buy 'em." She tossed him the car keys. "Get on out of here."
***
Sam was trying to read on the porch while he was really watching the street. Dean, he knew, had gone to the grocery store, with Missouri's list, and Sam's blessing, but with his brother suddenly out of his sight, Sam felt lost. He traced the lines of his book and told himself that this was good for both of them, once more, even as he lost his concentration on the paragraph.
The door swung open, and Missouri strolled out behind him, pulling her arms to herself. "Awful cold to be reading out here," she said.
"It's all right," Sam murmured. The psychic looked at him, smiling softly.
"He's gonna be fine, honey. So are you."
Sam looked over his shoulder at her standing there, in a thin sweater in the chill of early winter. She'd been good and kind to them, taking them in, feeding them, healing Sam and giving them the space to heal one another. But he knew--whether she'd intended him to or not--why she'd really sent Dean out on his own.
"My dad's coming back, isn't he," he said, more fact than question.
"Yes," Missouri answered, without batting an eye.
"That's why you sent Dean to the store."
"I think you and your daddy need time alone. Don't you?" she looked at him and, for the first time in his life, Sam knew the question wasn't facetious. If he said no, she'd send the Winchester patriarch away without a thought. Sam didn't need her to say it. He knew.
"Dean'll be mad."
"Let me deal with Dean."
He nodded and looked back to his book. A second later he heard the creak of the porch as Missouri stepped toward him. Wished, for a fleeting second, that he knew what it was like to have a porch.
"Sam," she murmured, "I'm not going to let anything like that happen to you again. Neither will your brother. And, believe it or not, your father won’t either. I know you have things to say to him, and I know he needs to hear them. You're still here, in my house, and that means I'm gonna look out for you, honey."
"I know," Sam managed, swallowing hard. He turned toward her. "It's just--"
"I'm lookin' out for your brother too. Even if I don't talk as nice to him as I do to you," she said with a wink. He smiled back. "Sam, your brother is always going to have your best interests in mind. And he's always gonna go above and beyond to try and look after you. But he's gonna have a hard time understanding that sometimes the best way for him to do that is to let you look after yourself. You're gonna have to help him along a bit there, sugar."
Sam nodded solemnly. "I will."
"I know you will." Her face turned suddenly soft and sad. "But will you believe me when I say your father means he's sorry?"
Sam looked back to the street. Missouri's hand cupped the back of his neck, sure and steady and strong, as the Impala pulled up confidently into place beside the curb.
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Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX