[fanfic] SPN "Do Dandelions Roar" Chpt 8 Title: Do Dandelions Roar: Chapter Eight Author:kuwamiko Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, John, Bobby, Missouri Rating: R-NC17 Spoilers: nothing major (set in pre-series AU) Summary: Two years ago Dean disappeared. Now John and Sam have gotten him back. But how will the three of them deal with the unexpected changes his trials in the time between have effected? Warnings: Nongraphic references to non-con sex and underage prostitution. Violence. Language. Incest (duh). Author's Note: This is AU, utter self indulgence, and has massive Dean!whumpage. Will contain Wincest eventually. Set about a year before the pilot, with some major differences. [chpt 1] [chpt 2] [chpt 3] [chpt 4] [chpt 5] [chpt 6] [chpt 7] [chpt 8] [chpt 9] [chpt 10] [chpt 11] [chpt 12] [chpt 13] [chpt 14] [chpt 15] [chpt 16] [chpt 17] [chpt 18] [chpt 19] [chpt 20] [chpt 21] [chpt 22] [chpt 23] [chpt 24] [chpt 25] [chpt 26] [chpt 27] [chpt 28] [chpt 29] [chpt 30] [chpt 31]
"Do Dandelions Roar"
- Chapter Eight - by KnM
The first rest stop inside the Kansas border, John swung his black truck easily off the highway and into its weathered lot. Bobby was just as glad for a chance to stretch his legs. John seemed to have given over his idea of taking it easy in favor of getting there as fast as he could, and while Bobby couldn't blame him for this, he certainly appreciated this break. Old bones didn't set as well in the driver's seat for hours on end as they had used to.
Breakfast and lunch had been fast food eaten in their vehicles, and Bobby suspected that if they hadn't been planning on reaching Lawrence around six-thirty, dinner would have been the same. He hoped the town had a decent restaurant, because he was getting a little sick of fast food. At home he usually cooked for himself, or visited the local bar for a steak and some spicy fried potatoes.
At the stop all of them made use of the facilities and then John and Sam vanished in opposite directions, both on their cell phones, leaving Bobby to look after Dean. Not that he minded. The boy stuck close to his side, practically in his pocket, and followed obediently as Bobby went to stand between the two trucks and wait. Bobby hadn't missed the way Dean had tensed, his eyes growing huge, fingers plucking at his sleeve, when another vehicle, a minivan, had pulled into the lot and a mass of squealing children had tumbled out and headed for the restrooms.
It had been the father, however, that Dean had kept a wary eye on, practically vanishing behind Bobby's larger frame, and so tense that Bobby half-expected the boy to leap out of his skin like a scalded cat at the slightest provocation.
"Hey, it's all right, Dean," he murmured, moving them both so that they stood right beside the passenger door of his own truck, Dean's body sheltered by Bobby's larger form. He could feel the trembling that wracked the boy's limbs as he placed a careful hand on Dean's shoulder. He wanted to offer comfort, pull Dean into a warm hug, and yet he knew that he couldn't. Dean would only take it as an advance, a demand.
It was a horrible thing, Bobby thought, that even the simple offer of physical comfort had been stolen away from Dean. He'd already known this, had learned quickly not to touch John's son in ways that could be misinterpreted on that first morning, but it was really hitting home now. It struck him as supremely unfair.
Not that Bobby had ever mistaken life for being fair. But with all that the Winchesters had been through in the past twenty-one years, with what Dean had suffered the last two years, they really deserved a little break of some sort.
Bobby could feel the muscles of Dean's upper arm tighten and jump under the palm of his hand, and he focused on the frightened face turned up to meet his, swallowing down his fruitless anger at the universe, because Dean was clearly picking up on that and was undoubtedly assuming that it was aimed at him.
"It's all right," he assured the boy again, raising his hand and gently running his fingers through the soft hair that framed Dean's face. "Don't worry, Dean. I ain't upset with you."
A soft breath crossed Dean's lips as they parted, his eyes going soft and unfocused, his chin tilting up, and Bobby knew that he'd blown it again. Before he could think how to backpedal without causing Dean to feel rejected, the boy tensed as a piercing screech provided a startling but effective distraction.
With much additional screaming and in-fighting, the family made its way back to its vehicle. The father and mother were both yelling at their kids, but with absolutely no effect. It was incredibly irritating to witness.
Bobby watched them go, thinking back to the Winchester boys at that age; they'd always been more disciplined than that, and he didn't think it was only because of the way John had raised them. Dean had, from an early age, been aware of his responsibilities, always ready to accept more even when he hadn't been asked to do so. And Sam had just been too smart for his britches, his nose usually buried in a book. Not to say they hadn't cut up, tumbled all over each other like puppies, hadn't at times fought with all the rage and vehemence that only siblings could rouse in one another. But these battles never lasted. And while Sam could hold a grudge like nobody's business, Dean had a way of dispersing the tension and making his younger brother feel as though there had never been anything wrong to begin with. Bobby had always wondered how he had done it.
The minivan roared out of the rest stop lot, and they were left alone to it again. Bobby let out a breath of relief. They were doing their best to keep Dean away from things that would frighten him or stress him out, but at this point that was pretty much... well, everything. Everyday living had been rendered incomprehensible and terrifying for a boy who had once been full of life and the joy of living, and this was another layer of unfairness that caught at Bobby's heart and made him as angry as it made him hurt.
He was startled from his thoughts as he felt a warm body press up against his chest. He went on alert immediately, because there'd be hell to pay if Dean touched him in an inappropriate manner and John Winchester chose that moment to return.
But Dean was just leaning against him, head resting on his shoulder, his face turned down. His body language was, as near as Bobby could figure, a passive request for closeness, for comfort, and he'd be a complete bastard if he didn't offer what the boy needed.
Without any... well, many qualms, Bobby wrapped an arm around Dean. Holding him lightly, not pulling him closer, but letting him know that he was there. Dean was a warm, breathing weight against him, and Bobby kept a wary eye on him, but he just... stayed. His right hand was plucking at the hem of his shirt, and his left thumb dented the full swell of his lower lip, resting there a moment. Bobby half expected him to go ahead and stick it in his mouth, but instead he began nibbling absently at the sleeve of the hoodie he was wearing, white teeth tugging at the material.
Bobby smoothed a hand carefully over the line of Dean's back, feeling the bones beneath the skin under the two tops that the boy was wearing. At least Dean was eating more, now that they were keeping him safely away from public places. He'd gain back the weight he'd lost. It would take a while, but hopefully Dean would gain back everything that he had lost....
"He doing okay?" John asked as he joined them between the two trucks. He peered at his son, his eyes dark with concern. Bobby stilled his hand instantly, fighting the urge to pull it away. He didn't want to startle Dean or give John any cause to think he felt guilty, when he'd been doing nothing more than offering comfort, but it was hard not to feel as though he'd been caught taking liberties. Even though he hadn't been. But he knew, had seen firsthand in the past, how protective John Winchester was of his sons.
"The family that was here scared him a little," Bobby offered honestly, half expecting John to tug Dean away from him and a little surprised when he didn't. "He's doing better, now they're gone."
John grunted, nodding. His gaze was fixed on Dean, but he still made no move toward his boy. Bobby thought that the possessive, protective fatherly instincts in John were fighting with the rational side that made note of the fact that Dean seemed relaxed and easy, his cheek resting on Bobby's shoulder, one finger in his mouth now.
"You get a hold of Lao?" Bobby prompted, figuring that must've been who John was calling.
John nodded, his pensive expression lightening. "Yeah, I did. Word from on high is that there's no suspects in the shootings and the explosion that destroyed the church. There was enough left that the cops figured out what the bastards were doing, so they're not looking too hard for their killers. But as far as Lao can tell, there wasn't enough left that the cops are looking for Dean specifically."
"Thank the Lord for small favors," Bobby breathed. The last thing they needed in all this mess was for the law to be after them. Even if it was with the goal of "saving" Dean, cops would complicate matters. This was definitely good news.
"Lao says he'll contact me if anything else comes up, but he doesn't think it will," John continued, raising one hand in an abortive move, as though to clasp Dean's shoulder, but rethinking it at the last moment. "He's pretty sure we got out clean."
"Oh, good," Sam murmured hoarsely, coming up behind his father. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he was clutching his phone in one hand. His gaze, however, was only for his brother, and Bobby thought that whatever the phone call the younger Winchester had made that had upset him, it was set behind him as he switched his focus to Dean.
Bobby didn't know if that was healthy or not, but in this moment he thought it was good, for both Dean and for Sam. Sam needed something to focus on, with his life in shambles behind him, and maybe the intensity of his attention might help Dean to find something to lock onto in turn.
Unlike his father, Sam didn't have any hesitation in reaching for Dean, bundling him away from Bobby and into his own sphere of body heat. Bobby felt a little chill, a little bereft, as Dean's warmth and presence was taken away, but Dean wasn't his; he belonged to Sam and John Winchester. Bobby had no claim on the boy other than affection and regard.
He was grateful, though, that he had been able to offer Dean a few moments of comfort and care... and that Dean had accepted it from him.
"Let's get going. We're almost there," Sam said, sounding more forlorn than impatient, one huge hand clasped over Dean's shoulder as he tugged his brother's slight form up against him. Dean rested passively against Sam's chest, left hand curling in the waistband of Sam's jeans. Just hooked there, holding on, nothing more. And Bobby knew that Dean belonged with Sam, because whether either of them knew it or not, Dean was now responding in kind, not just passively accepting Sam's touches. And he wasn't offering... what he'd been trained to offer. It made Bobby's throat ache thickly, to see Dean reaching out, in an entirely unconscious way, for his brother. And, okay, it was a little wrong, and not entirely without its sexual connotations, but it was still a huge step in the right direction.
Sam, for his part, seemed blithely unaware, his fingers spread over Dean's shoulders and upper back, thumb brushing against the exposed flesh just below the Melusine's mark. Bobby had to look away from the easy intimacy, and not because it was "wrong". Just because it was too raw and honest. It hurt to see it.
John cleared his throat and silently climbed into the truck, slamming the door behind him, leaving his sons to circle the vehicle and get in on the other side, and Bobby to likewise go around to get in his own truck.
Bobby considered it a testament to how much John Winchester really loved his sons and cared about their well-being that he hadn't said anything at all... but he couldn't help wondering how much longer it was going to last.
Well, if things went as planned, Bobby wouldn't be there for the fireworks. That honor would fall to this psychic that John was counting on. And more power to her. Bobby was more than ready to pass on the torch.
***
There was a storm brewing.
Missouri Mosely felt them coming from two states over, even though John Winchester hadn't been polite enough to call first and give her fair warning. She was going to have to give him some hell for that.
Not that the man hadn't already been dragged to Hell and back by the things that had happened to his family ever since that yellow-eyed demon had targeted his younger son in the baby's crib and then killed both his boys' mother, his beloved wife.
He and his boys had dealt with that monster, gaining revenge if not freedom or peace of mind. Nothing was going to bring Mary Winchester back. John was still a grieving widower, the boys still lost without a mother, grown into adults now but always missing that vital part of their hearts. Sam had never even known what had been taken away from him, but Dean....
Now, that child had been hurt, deeply. And John, wallowing in his own pain, hadn't been able to reach him. He'd known enough to bring his babies to Missouri, though. That had been something, at least.
And now he was bringing one of his boys to Missouri again. More than that she didn't know. She usually only heard the thoughts of others and felt their presence -- human or ghostly -- when they were close. But she could feel John Winchester's anguish and determination from a distance, and knew that he was coming to her.
Whatever it was, it was bad. She was afraid, for whichever boy it was, and knowing that whatever had happened, the other one would be affected as well. They'd always been all wrapped up in each other. She hadn't seen them since they'd been four years and six months respectively, but she knew that.
As the dusk approached, she puttered around the kitchen, cooking enough food for four hearty male appetites -- though she couldn't have said why, when there were only three Winchesters -- and brewing a pot of strong coffee as well as heating water for tea. She would drink it if no one else did, and she suspected, no, she knew that she was going to need all the fortifying that she could get.
There were grey clouds massed on the horizon, as she pulled an apple pie out of the oven and put a nice juicy roast in, rain piling up, hovering, threatening. She washed her hands in the sink, drying them and trying to still the pounding of her heart, settle the hairs prickling at the nape of her neck. The storm would break before night fell.
The Winchesters, though. They were going to be arriving a few hours before then.
Missouri Mosely sat, sipping her tea, and waited.
***
He hadn't realized how much it was going to hurt.
Sam kept shooting him quick little looks, his brow wrinkled in confusion, but he could never understand. He had been less than one year old when John had packed his boys up in the Impala and put Lawrence, Kansas in his rearview mirror. Hell, he doubted Dean, who had been close to five at the time, remembered much about the town he'd been born and raised in.
That was, if Dean remembered anything from his childhood at all, now. Since he still didn't seem to recognize any of them, they were all assuming that he didn't. John didn't feel that it was the wrong assumption to make.
"You okay, Dad?" Sam finally asked, sounding as though the query had been forced out of him against his will, but also seeming to care about the answer.
"Fine," John gruffed, shifting his death grip on the steering wheel to try to make it less obvious. His jaw was clenched as the truck passed the town sign and he had to slow his speed. Driving this road was like nudging his tongue into the hole where a tooth had recently been; there was a deep, pulsing pain, a sense of something being missing, and a desperate curdling of his stomach, because this was wrong, wrong, wrong.
"I can drive if you want," Sam offered hesitantly, and John wondered what his face must look like.
"You don't know where Missouri lives," he managed to loosen his jaw enough to say, speaking more sharply than he had meant to.
Sam gave a spastic shrug and sat back with a slightly sulky look on his face at the rebuff. John didn't call him on it, though. Sam couldn't know how much it hurt John to be back in the place where his wife, his home and the future he'd wanted for his sons had been wrenched away from him in such a horrible, unforgettable manner. He didn't want Sam to know that pain.
John started slightly as a warm hand pressed against his thigh, awkwardly patting the tense muscle. It wasn't Sammy, of course, but rather it was Dean who was reaching out to him, who was looking at his father with what John almost felt was lucid concern. And that was why he was here, no matter how much it hurt, wasn't it?
Because Dean was damaged and this was the only place John could think of to get him help. Because Dean was his son, and was the sort of boy who would try to comfort John even when his own world had been shattered around him. And that was a sort of selfless love that demanded a showing of the same in return. Returning to this town might be hurting John, but this was where he needed to be, and he damned well knew it. Even if there was a shadow of Mary in every storefront he passed, old memories dancing down every street he drove.
For the better or the worse, here they were, in Lawrence, Kansas. John could deal with it, because he had to. Dean was his focus, and that was what he needed to keep in mind. Now, he only hoped that he had pinned his hopes on the right woman.
Well, if he hadn't, Missouri Mosely would let him know, first thing.
***
The clouds were hanging low and heavy, their swollen bellies lumping grey in the sky when John pulled up against the curb in front of a neat two-story house in the suburbs.
Sam was a little surprised when he saw the place. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, really, but whatever it had been, it hadn't been... this. If it hadn't been for the small sign in the front yard declaring "Missouri Mosely; Psychic" he would have been certain that his father had misremembered and they were in the wrong place.
The air was chill when they climbed down out of the truck, a cold breeze catching and tugging at their hair, frosty fingers scraping at their faces. Sam nudged Dean into the leeward side of his own bulk, grateful that he now towered over the brother who had been bigger than him until his late teens. He might not be able to protect Dean from anything else, from the things in his head that tormented him, but he could at least shield him from the elements.
"This's it?" Bobby sounded as nonplussed as Sam had felt. He'd parked behind John and had descended to join them on the sidewalk, hands in his jacket pockets, cap pulled down, eyes squinted against the wind.
"What were you expecting?" John asked, but he didn't look as though he was going to hear any answer Bobby might give him. His attention was completely focused on the house in front of him. "Come on."
Sam and Bobby exchanged a glance, but the breeze was only picking up, not growing less, and there was a wet scent to it that promised rain was soon coming. They were more than willing to follow John as he strode up the walkway.
"John Winchester, I could just slap you."
Sam hadn't been sure what to expect, but his first sight of Missouri Mosely, not to mention the first words out of her mouth, went a long way toward settling any doubts he might have had.
She stood in the doorway, a sturdy black woman, older than his father but looking younger in an ageless way. Her hands were on her hips and her wide-set eyes were sparkling with emotion.
"You could have called me, you know," she continued. "I am in the phonebook."
There were no filmy skirts; she was wearing a pair of jeans and a burgundy color sweatshirt with a white tree stenciled on its front. No long, flowing hair; it was pulled back from her face in a no-nonsense manner, tight curls in a dark halo around the back of her head. Her voice was the only thing that fit the stereotype, only not really; small and careful, like a little girl's... but it was definitely not a child's voice. There was a sense of control in her, a core of steel that wasn't hidden, was there for anyone with eyes to see. She was neither pretty nor unattractive, was almost entirely nondescript, and yet Sam knew the minute that he set eyes on her that she was someone he would never forget. She was... she was someone who had Power. This knowledge resonated in him, even though he couldn't have said where it had come from. He didn't doubt anymore, though. She was the real thing.
And she hadn't even had to read his mind to prove it.
"I'm sorry, Missouri," John mumbled, his chin dipping, sounding properly contrite. But after her initial flash of irritation at his father, Missouri's gaze had locked on Dean and had not strayed. Her eyes went wide and glazed over, their brightness dimmed.
"Oh, baby," she uttered breathlessly, rushing forward to take up Dean's hands in both of hers. "Oh, Dean."
Sam expected his brother to shrink back, the way he had from the waitress at the diner and the few fellow travelers they had encountered in the various rest stops they had made use of on the way here. Even though he was doing better, Dean still flinched when even John, Sam, or Bobby made an unexpected move in his direction, still cringed away from strangers.
But Dean stood where he was, tucked up against Sam's side, one of Sam's arms ringing his body. He met Missouri's eyes, and Sam couldn't really tell from the angle he was standing, above Dean, but he thought that the expression on Dean's face was one of curiosity, inquiry.
Missouri, on the other hand, looked shaken to the center of her being.
"Oh." She let out a choked exhalation, releasing Dean's hands and staggering. Sam couldn't unwrap his arm from around his brother in time to help her, but John was there, at her elbow, catching and steadying her.
"I'm sorry, Missouri," John rasped again, for a different reason this time.
The woman ignored him; as much as she could when she was leaning against him, depending on him to keep her on her feet.
"Oh, Dean, honey," she husked, and even if he hadn't already been convinced, Sam would have had to believe that she was really a psychic and had seen at least some of what had happened to his brother, because there was no way she could have faked the blanched cheeks, the lines suddenly etched around her eyes and mouth, the pain in her gaze.
"Can you help him?" Sam asked, surprised by how hoarse he sounded. Maybe the question was an impertinence but he wanted to get it out there. He wanted a reassurance that they were in the right place and that Missouri was going to be able to make his brother better.
Though he didn't think there was much a psychic, no matter how good she was, could do about the mark the Melusine had left in his brother's flesh.
"Of course I can help," Missouri broke into his thoughts, her eyes fixed on him now, and some of the life and snap coming back into her face. "I might not be able to remove that mark, but there's plenty that I can do. Don't you worry now, Sam, honey. Your father did bring you to the right place."
Okay, and that freaked him out a little, that his own thoughts weren't private around this woman. But John had said that Missouri read minds, and it appeared he hadn't been exaggerating. It was comforting, really, as Sam thought about it. Because if Missouri could read Sam's mind then that meant she could read Dean's. And she'd be able to tell them what was wrong with his brother, and maybe how to fix it.
"Let's go inside," she said, rallying, her spine straightening as she pulled away from John and stood firmly on her own feet. Her face was still pale, her eyes haunted, but she looked better already. "We all have a lot to talk about, and the weather is about to get nasty. I have a roast in the oven and fresh coffee brewed, and of course you're invited, Bobby Singer. You think I'd turn away anyone who showed up at my door after helping rescue Dean?" She shook her finger at the older man, who was hovering uncomfortably behind the Winchesters. "And don't you even think of heading to Opal's Diner; the food there is nothing to compare to mine, and I'll be awfully insulted if you insist on turning me down!"
"Yes'm," Bobby replied, and if Sam hadn't been so overwhelmed with the contradictory emotions of sinking despair and rising hope, he might have chuckled at the gulp he heard in Bobby's voice.
Missouri Mosely certainly had the presence to compel them all to obey. Even though Sam wanted to insist that she tell him in detail how she was going to help Dean, what she could do for his brother, and how soon....
"All in good time, honey," she said, reaching and patting his arm as John and Bobby preceded them into the house. "All in good time."
And Sam was going to have to be content with that, because that was all he was going to get.
There was a smattering of raindrops on the pavement around them, and he hurried Dean into the house after everyone else, the door closing behind them.
Immediately, Sam experienced a sensation of being sheltered, safe. The air was warm and fragrant with the scent of cooking meat and rich coffee, as Missouri had promised. The furniture was worn but clean, and Sam felt welcome.
"Now take off your coats and then come into the kitchen," Missouri instructed, sweeping past them all and vanishing down the hall. "And don't be long; the roast is nearly done!"
Sam helped Dean struggle out of his hoodie first, before taking his own jacket off. Dean butted up against his side as he hung them on the coat rack, fingers curling into his waistband again, and Sam couldn't help the little thrill that sparked through him at the fact that Dean was seeking comfort from his presence even when he, presumably, didn't remember him as his brother. Of course, the fact of Dean's hand so near to his manhood made him a little nervous, especially with their father and Bobby right there... but it wasn't as though Dean was trying to unzip his fly and reach inside or anything.
"Oh, God, that smells good," Bobby said fervently as he shrugged out of his jacket, and Sam couldn't argue. He was hungry; lunch had been a long time ago and he'd never found fast food it be particularly satisfying. And he could really use a cup of coffee.
"Nothing's changed," John said softly, so quietly that Sam wasn't sure he'd been meant to hear, was pretty sure that his father was talking to himself. He'd taken off his leather jacket but was standing, holding it, taking in his surroundings with a stricken expression.
Sam glanced around. The foyer was wide, neatly kept, with a bench, a sofa, and a coat rack. Around the corner to their right was a sort of parlor, with an afghan-draped sofa and a blocky television in it. Clearly Missouri worked from her home and this was where her customers waited their turn. It was neatly kept and homey, giving Sam a good feeling as he stood here.
But the last time John Winchester had been in Missouri's home he had been seeking the truth about what had killed his wife, what had taken her from him in a horrible, unforgettable manner. The last time John had been here, he had been bleeding out from a huge hole in his heart, and Sam knew that no matter how much time had passed, that hole had not gone away. It had scabbed over a little, but coming back here was undoubtedly tearing it open all over again.
"Dad," he said awkwardly, wanting to draw his father into an embrace, but not quite able to bring himself to do it. He reached out, but John's pain was too raw and it seemed suddenly that even a simple thing like a hand on John's shoulder might cause the man to lash out at those around him, or worse, cause him to shatter. Sam didn't know what to do.
Dean did, though. Suddenly, without Sam noticing that his brother had left his side, Dean was grasping one of John's hands in both his own, slender, pale fingers curling around the larger, weather-stained, callused fingers. John blinked, shaken out of his fugue, as Dean tugged slightly.
Sam shared an incredulous look with Bobby, who appeared just as shocked as he felt. Bobby, though, grinned after a moment, where Sam could only get his mouth to snap closed with what felt like a monumental effort. He fought an unexpected burst of jealousy, knowing that this was neither the time nor the place for it, that such a negative reaction was in no way going to help Dean, their Dad, or himself. He couldn't seem to help the instinctive tug of possessiveness that yanked at his gut, and he was ashamed of it, but that didn't make it go away.
"Let's go," Bobby said gruffly, leading the way from the foyer into the house proper. "I dunno about the rest of you, but I don't think it's a good idea to keep our hostess waiting. It ain't polite anyhow."
Sam nodded, following automatically. He couldn't tell if it was Dean leading John or John leading Dean as they paced behind him into the light and warmth and good smells of Missouri's kitchen, but that wasn't what was important. What was important was that--
"You're here," Missouri said, and it was like a benediction. She gave Sam a look, and he couldn't decide if it was disapproving or pitying, but all she said further was, "Now, you take turns trooping to the bathroom and you all wash your hands. Then we're going to sit down and eat dinner. And afterwards, then we'll talk about what's going on with Dean. Not a moment before."
And as much as Sam wanted to argue, and as sure as he was that John wanted to argue as well, none of them did. They moved to do as they'd been directed, and it was a delicious dinner, the best Sam could remember having in a long time, maybe ever. The roast was done to perfection, the vegetables were steamed, and the potatoes had been mashed with the skins in and plenty of garlic and butter. There was french bread that Missouri demurred modestly as being from the local supermarket, but Sam thought it was fine, crusty and oven-warm so that the butter melted into it the moment it was spread.
Even Dean ate, paying devoted attention to the food, as though nothing else existed in his world. And that was even better, as far as Sam was concerned.
While they ate Missouri led them in small talk. She skirted the subject of Stanford, surely aware that it was something of a sore point. Likewise, they didn't talk about the Yellow-Eyed Demon, or anything concerning the Melusine. After they were done eating, Sam would have sworn that he couldn't recall a single thing they had spoken of, and yet the meal had been a pleasant one. His stomach was full and his nerves were a little more settled. He felt more at ease than he had for days now, and he was grateful to Missouri for this feeling.
Once the meal was finished Missouri briskly directed all of them to take their dinnerware to the sink -- which she filled with soapy water for them -- and leave everything there to soak. In the meantime, she wrapped the leftovers and put them in the refrigerator. Sam collected Dean's utensils, happy to note that his brother had eaten everything on his plate. That was a hell of a lot better than the disastrous Chinese take-out they'd had for their first meal after getting Dean back, and a fair sight better than any other meal since. Missouri set a golden-brown pie in the center of the table, but none of them was ready to tackle that yet. It was like a sweet promise, covered in flaky pastry.
Before they settled in for their conclave, Missouri made a cup of cocoa for Dean. It was from an instant packet, but he seemed appreciative, staring into the mug as though it held the answer to all the questions that Sam wasn't sure that he knew anymore to ask. He hadn't really touched the milk Missouri had given him to drink with dinner, but the hot chocolate was evidently more tempting. He still didn't smile -- Sam was beginning to feel as though he'd never see his brother smile again, and he despaired -- but he gave the beverage his full attention, sipping at it with what appeared to be intent appreciation.
Sam, Bobby, and John all had coffee. Missouri had real cream in her refrigerator, which rendered her virtually a goddess in Sam's books. Missouri herself had tea; chamomile, Sam thought, from the scent of it.
Once they were all seated, there was an extended moment of pensive silence. Sam glanced around the table. Dean was between himself and their father, his knees tucked up to his chest, his feet on the chair seat before his rear. He'd taken off his shoes, but hadn't stripped further, much to Sam's relief; he was still wearing the jeans and teeshirt that Sam had bundled him into that morning. Dean's fingers were wrapped around the handle of his mug, but his eyelids were drooping. He looked ready to sleep, and Sam sympathized, but this coming conversation was too important. As much as he wanted to curl up in bed with Dean in his arms, they needed to find out what Missouri could do for his brother. That was the whole reason they were here, after all.
John sat, both hands wrapped around his coffee mug, his eyes downturned. He looked at least as exhausted as Sam felt. To Sam's other side was Bobby, the older man alert and awake, and between John and Bobby, opposite both Sam and Dean, Missouri sat. It was a round table, but for some reason it felt to Sam as though their hostess was seated at its head.
There was a sudden strafing of raindrops against the glass of the window, causing them to start as it broke the silence that had fallen over the kitchen. Sam could hear the house creaking a little, could hear the wind howling around its edges and corners. Wind chimes tinkled outside the back door, and he thought that he caught a distant rumble of thunder.
Dean raised his head, his brow creasing, looking toward the dark square of the evening outside the window, and Sam kept a close eye on his brother. Dean had already gone wandering three times now. The worst thing would be if he did so in inclement weather. Sam gave more than a moment's serious thought to binding one of his wrists to Dean's when they did go to bed. He wondered how his brother would take that.
"Thank you fer the meal, Ms. Mosely," Bobby said politely, finally breaking the bubble of quiet that had descended on them all. "Best home-cooked meal I've had since-- Well, fer a while."
Missouri smiled at him. "You go ahead and call me Missouri," she instructed him firmly. "There's no need for formality when we're all of us here for the same reason."
Without any of them willing it, all gazes gravitated immediately to Dean. As though feeling the weight of their regard, his sleepy eyes flew open, scanning the table. Sam's stomach wrenched at the flare of panic that swept the color from his brother's face, and he reached out for him, even as Bobby and John averted their gazes; Bobby looking back at Missouri and John staring at the rain-freckled glass of the kitchen window.
Sam wanted to pull Dean off his chair and settle him into his lap, but he resisted this urge as being inappropriate. He grasped his brother's hand and fixed his attention on the way his larger fingers folded over Dean's. There was a faint shadow of an ink stain on the big knuckle of his thumb and Sam realized with a dull shock that it was still there from the last time he'd sat in class at Stanford. It seemed a lifetime ago, but it hadn't really been long at all.
Dean calmed, though whether it was Sam's touch or the fact that only Missouri was still staring at him was impossible to tell. Just in case, though, Sam held on firmly. He would be Dean's strength until Dean had gotten back his own. And even after, if his brother would let him.
"How about we start at the beginning," Missouri spoke up, breaking the second silence that had descended. She set aside her empty tea cup and folded her hands before her on the table. "I don't need to know how you destroyed the evil force that stole everything away from you... though that is a tale I'd like to hear sometime." She fixed her wide, dark eyes on John, and he looked reluctantly back. "Begin with what happened to Dean. You told me about the... what was it? The Melusine? But what happened after that? I know why Dean is so lost inside his own head, and I know what... what happened to him... after...." She faltered a moment, her expression pained, then she rallied. "But I certainly don't know why he somehow looks like a teenager again, and I'd like to hear, so that I know exactly what it is I'm dealing with."
John was nodding, his expression pensive. Sam was initially a little startled that Missouri knew about the Melusine, but then he thought that it only made sense; John knew an honest-to-God psychic and of course he'd have consulted her when he had first begun searching for Dean after the disaster at Half Moon Bay. It was only too bad that she obviously hadn't been able to help. But she could help now. She'd said she could.
In slow, stuttering sentences, John laid out the basic facts of what had happened after Dean had been taken by the Melusine in Sam's place. He spared them all the details, probably couldn't have made himself speak them even if he had wanted, but they were all still smarting by the time he was finished.
Everyone but Dean. Shortly after John had begun talking, he'd loosed himself from Sam's grip, and under his brother's watchful eye had risen and padded on stocking-feet over to the sink. Much to Sam's amazement, Dean had begun washing the dishes, even going so far as to fill the second sink with rinse water and putting each plate and utensil into the drying rack once he was done with them.
So much that Dean had lost, he didn't even remember his own father and brother, and yet he still knew how to do dishes?
"The brain is a curious things that works in curious ways, Sam, honey. You know that," Missouri said, drawing Sam's attention away from his brother and back to the conversation. He realized that his father was done talking, and he hoped that now they would get down to what exactly it was Missouri was going to do for Dean. "Even odder things happen when you mix in the supernatural."
Sam shrugged. He couldn't argue. But.... "You're going to be able to fix him, aren't you?"
Missouri gave him another of those looks that he couldn't tell from disapproving or pitying. "You know that it's not that easy, Sam. I can and I will help your brother. But I can't remove the mark in his flesh or heal the damage it's done to his mind."
"But you can help -- you said!" Sam held onto that with a ferocity born of desperation.
"Help, not fix," Missouri demurred, and she was definitely irked with him, but he couldn't change the way he felt. "Yes, I'll be able to help your brother. But I can't work miracles, so don't you go expecting that of me."
"We're not," John gruffed as Sam subsided. He should have felt chastised, not resentful, and he fought with the tangle of emotions clotting in his chest, because Missouri could read minds and it was incredibly ungrateful of him to harbor resentments. Especially when she'd promised that she was going to help as much as she could, and she was really under no obligation to do anything, was helping out of the goodness of her heart. He was just so... he'd been wanting so badly for her to just take Dean and make him better somehow. The let-down was his own fault, not hers, but he was exhausted and disappointed and it was hard to be rational.
"It's all right," Missouri murmured in Sam's direction, then she met John's dark eyes forthrightly. "I'll do all that I can for your boy, John. It won't be quick and it won't be pretty. I can't fix him. I'll only be able to help him. And it's going to be up to you and Sam, and up to Dean himself, to heal him once I'm done. But I can help, and you did bring him to the right place."
Sam swallowed tightly, feeling his unwarranted anger wash away and weariness flood to replace it. It wasn't any later than nine o'clock, he didn't think, but he felt as though he could cheerfully go to bed and sleep for a night and a day. He couldn't, though. Because Missouri had said that she was going to help Dean. And that Sam was going to have to help him after that.
"Thank you, Missouri," John said simply, his voice raspy, his shoulders slumped. He looked half again as tired as Sam felt, and that was saying something.
Missouri nodded, her face creasing in a smile. She didn't smile often, looked solemn most of the time, but when she did smile, she was almost pretty. "All right. Let's have some pie, and then we can get an early start in the morning."
"What?" Sam blurted before he could stop himself, half rising. "Morning?! But--"
Missouri glared at him and he subsided as though he'd been shoved back down into his chair.
"Yes, tomorrow morning," the psychic said intractably. "Think about it for a moment, Sam. Your Dean, he's been violated. First by the Melusine, who stole his life energy and his memories, and then physically and emotionally by the men who had him. The last thing that poor boy needs is me digging into his head, coming in without permission. I'm going to have to get him to invite me in, and that's going to take time."
Sam could see the sense in that, despite his own impatience, his desire to see Dean healed. He just... he wanted Dean to remember him. He didn't want his brother to be violated again, like Missouri had said, but he hated the thought of waiting.
John looked as disconcerted as Sam felt, his mouth opening. Missouri whipped a finger in his direction so fast it made all three men blink.
"Don't you dare, John!" Her expression softened after a moment. "Besides, you're so tired you're about to fall over and your boys aren't doing much better. All of you need to get some sleep." She nodded as though the matter was decided, and maybe it was. "I have two rooms upstairs that you can use. Bobby, you're going to have to take the sofa, I'm afraid."
Bobby stood, stretching until he creaked. "That's very generous, Missouri. But I figure I'd best be on my way soon's we've had some pie."
"What?!" Sam jumped to his feet as well. "Bobby, you can't leave!"
"Now, Sam," Missouri put in, and now she definitely looked disapproving. "You can't ask more of Bobby than he's already given."
"But... but...." Sam deflated, sinking back down into his chair. Dean wandered over from where he had been peering out the back door, and placed hands chilled from the glass on his brother's shoulder. Sam reached up to cover those cold fingers with his own, feeling despondent. "You can't just leave us...."
Bobby's mouth twisted in something that definitely wasn't a smile, though he might have meant it to be. He shrugged. "Sorry, Sam. Figure I did my duty by you Winchesters gettin' ya here all in one piece. More'n that you can't ask of me."
"No, of course not," John said, rising to his feet and clapping a hand to Bobby's shoulder. "Thank you for everything you've done for us, Bobby. I owe you more than I'll ever be able to repay...."
Bobby chuckled. "Don'tcha count on that, John. 'Cause next time I need a spot of aid, I'm gonna know who to call. And I know you'll damned well come running."
John's mouth quirked. "It's only fair, right?"
Sam slung an arm around Dean's waist, pulling his brother close and resting his head on Dean's shoulder. He wasn't going to argue anymore, since everyone else had the right of it, but he couldn't help feeling as though Bobby was deserting them. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he'd come to depend upon the older Hunter.
"B'sides, if I don't head fer home, I won't be able to bring the Impala back here," Bobby gruffed. Sam's mouth dropped open and he felt properly put in his place at this further showing of selflessness.
"You don't have to do that," John immediately responded, as Missouri got to her feet and collected saucers and forks, putting them on the table before beginning to slice the pie into generous wedges with a silver spatula.
"Don't hafta, but I wanna," Bobby grunted, refreshing his coffee and then sitting back down at the table. "Sam's gonna need somethin' to tool around in, ain't he? And the Impala's meant to be driven. Bad enough it's been sittin', languishin' on my lot for two years now. You know Dean'll want it here once he starts to come back to himself. Even if he ain't old enough right now to get his license again...."
Sam swallowed thickly, feeling relief burst through him. Bobby wasn't deserting them. He'd be back. He was being amazingly generous, and Sam should be properly appreciative.
"Thank you, Bobby," he husked, hoping he didn't sound as though he was about to cry. Dean's fingers were in the hair at the base of his skull, and he knew that he had to pull it together, because if Dean was trying to comfort him....
"Here, have some pie," Missouri instructed, sliding it across the table to Bobby. "And I think you ought to reconsider my offer. That storm out there is nasty but it'll blow over by morning. You stay here tonight and you can have a bath and then get a fresh start in the morning with a thermos full of hot coffee. How does that sound?"
Bobby grasped a fork and favored the psychic with a wide grin. "I think that sounds perfect, ma'am. And I thank you kindly."
John got himself some more coffee, finishing off the pot, while Sam settled Dean back in the chair he'd left some time ago. Missouri served them both their apple pie, and it was just as delicious as dinner had been, if not more so. Sam just thought it was a shame that both he and Dean were practically nodding off as they finished eating.
"Thank you for doing the dishes, Dean," Missouri said politely as she nibbled at her own dessert. Dean didn't seem to take any notice, but she didn't appear to mind.
"Fuck!" John cursed unexpectedly, slamming down his fork and causing everyone to start and stare at him.
"What?" Sam asked, instinctively reaching for Dean and finding his brother reaching back. "What's wrong, Dad?"
John scowled, heavy brows drawn together. "The luggage. It's all still in the trucks."
They listened to the roll of thunder curling almost directly overhead, rain striking the windows hard enough to rattle the glass. The wind gusted around the house, howling and shaking the shingles on the roof.
Bobby grimaced expressively. "Well, shit. Flip ya for it?"