[fanfic] SPN "Do Dandelions Roar" Chpt 12 Title: Do Dandelions Roar: Chapter Twelve Author:kuwamiko Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean, John, 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. Contains Wincest. 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 Twelve - by KnM
Sam found he was yawning widely as he closed the bedroom door behind himself, but he wasn't really tired. He'd been doing nothing but sleeping and sitting since they'd reached Missouri's, and while stress did wear on a person, he was feeling a lot calmer now.
He wasn't sure whether he had more cause to be relieved or to continue to fret, but he seemed to have hit his limit. Even though there was still a lot to freak out about, a lot to process, and a lot more to do, he was taking this moment to just be grateful that Dean was talking again, that his brother remembered him, and that things were getting better.
He'd been so concerned about how things would go when their Dad got back... and in the end he really needn't have worried. When John had joined them in the kitchen Missouri had been showing Dean how to roll the dough for the biscuits and Sam had been drying the last of the lunch dishes.
It had been a nice pleasant domestic scene, and Sam had been able to see the tension seeping out of his father's shoulders. John didn't need to know that just ten minutes before Dean had been straddling Sam's lap, sneaking naughty little chocolate milk flavored kisses behind Missouri's back as she breaded the chicken quarters for dinner.
Dean had been on his best behavior, though, when their Dad had walked into the kitchen. Missouri had smiled indulgently as Dean deserted her, bounding over to his father and greeting him all over again as though he hadn't seen him in forever, liberally smearing his shirt with flour. And Sam had discovered, as he dried his hands and couldn't help his mouth curving in a crooked grin, that he might not have as much trouble sharing his brother as he had been expecting.
Still, he was glad that it was him that Dean was going to be climbing into bed with now, and not their Dad. He was still that selfish.
He and Dean had brushed their teeth and then left the bathroom for John. Dean was quiet during all of this, washing his hands twice as Sam directed, to try and get the smell of cleaning solvent off of them. And that was a scent that Sam hadn't thought he'd experience again while he'd been studying at Stanford. Certainly not so soon, anyway.
He wasn't angry at their Dad for whipping out the weaponry right away. He felt like he should have been. This was a chance to give Dean a fresh start, to let him be a real teenage boy, not a Hunter. But at the same time it had made a strange sort of sense. So many of Sam's memories of Dean involved his older brother holding a firearm of some sort. And it hadn't been a matter of phallic symbolism; not when the gun was dealing out death to a flesh-eating creature of some sort that was intent on taking a chunk out of them for a snack. So many teenage boys and men thought that guns were "cool" but Dean and Sam had been handling them since they'd been prepubescent. To the Winchester boys firearms were nothing more nor less than a means to an end.
It had been a little sad, Sam thought, that the only way their father could think to connect with Dean was through Hunting, through weaponry. He wasn't surprised by it, though, and he thought that maybe this lack of surprise was one of the saddest things of all.
Missouri had been a little pissed, but she hadn't yelled too much, had just lambasted John in that small voice of hers for bringing guns into her house without permission. Sam got the feeling that while she wasn't thrilled about having firearms in her kitchen, it had been the lack of courtesy that had really bothered her more than anything else.
Still, it had been a largely harmless, relatively productive way for Dean and their Dad to pass the time while Missouri lectured Sam privately.
And wasn't his mind still reeling from that talking to! Nothing like he'd been expecting and nothing that he could make sense of....
Well, but, no. The hell of it all was that everything Missouri had said had made perfect sense. It was just that Sam didn't really want it to make sense. Because it just didn't seem right. It felt right; Sam was a little surprised by that realization, by the fact that he didn't feel disgust or even distaste whenever Dean kissed him. But it wasn't supposed to feel right. No matter what Missouri said, no matter how logical and convincing her argument had been, they were still brothers, and brothers weren't supposed to....
But she'd also said that it was for Dean's sake that Sam should give in to what felt right, instead of the other way around. She'd informed him in no uncertain terms that if he resisted he'd be hurting Dean, stunting his recovery. And Sam didn't want that. More than anything, he needed to help Dean to get better.
At least she hadn't told him to actually go ahead and have sex with Dean. Then he would have known that she was crazy, had lost her mind. But she had been completely rational about it, using language that Sam couldn't argue against, every word carefully chosen and completely defensible. Even for a young man who'd been studying to be a lawyer.
Dean needed to be touched and reassured, she'd said. His reactions to said touch had been sexualized by what he'd been put through the last two years. And so Sam was going to have to respond to him in ways that Dean recognized. He wasn't to take things as far as Dean evidently wanted, Missouri had been adamant, proving that she had a bit of propriety remaining, but neither could Sam rebuff his brother.
It wasn't that she was telling him to do anything that ran counter to his nature. His best intentions, maybe. What society and religion taught to be right, certainly. But then, it would have seemed just as wrong in a different way to push Dean away, to consistently reject him when he reached out, just because he was reaching out in the wrong way. And Missouri had told Sam not to encourage Dean; not that he would have. It was a fine line to balance and Missouri had admitted as much, but as she had pointed out, Sam was the only one who could do it.
No pressure, though....
"Sammy?"
Dean was already naked, his clothes in a puddle on the floor, and was sitting cross-legged on their bed and staring at him with wide, worried eyes, unconsciously twisting the silver ring around his thumb. Sam shook off his heavy thoughts and smiled at his brother, trying to convey an assurance that he didn't really feel. He could do this, even if he wasn't sure what "this" was. For Dean he could do it, because he had to.
"Time to put your pajamas on, Dean," he said, bending and picking up his brother's discarded clothes, dropping them in the hamper. He was almost amused by the horrified, offended expression that this statement elicited, Dean's brows coming down and his mouth dropping open. Now that was an expression that he recognized. It was perversely comforting to see it on Dean's face; to see something other than incomprehension, or pain, or worry. Or that terrible, awful blankness.
"No pajamas!" Dean protested with more force than Sam had expected. "They choke me!" He grasped at his throat to illustrate, his eyes darkening with fear and frustration.
"All right," Sam soothed, recognizing the problem. This was something he could work with. "All right, Dean, no pajamas. What about a teeshirt and boxers, then?" That had been pretty much what he'd meant in the first place. He could totally understand Dean not wanting to wear the new navy blue pajamas that their father had bought him, but there was no way that Sam was sleeping tonight with a naked Dean curled all around him!
"Just boxers?" Dean tried, giving him a puppy-dog look that Sam recognized as being similar to the one he'd used to get his way during his preteens. It was remarkably effective, Sam had to admit. Or maybe it was just because he knew what Dean had been going through for the past two years, and he couldn't harden his heart against it.
"Dad got you a Metallica teeshirt," he wheedled, not able to out and out demand that Dean wear a shirt to bed, but he'd really be more comfortable, the more his brother was wearing.
Dean pouted. Undeniably pouted, lower lip jutting and all. Sam was torn between amusement and exasperation, with swelling affection winning out over all. "Don't wanna...." But Dean sounded less certain now.
"Well, put on your boxers for me," Sam instructed, tossing a pair onto the bed beside Dean and pulling his own faded pajama bottoms out of the dresser drawer. "Then we'll talk. I'm going to wear a teeshirt to bed."
Dean squirmed his way over the edge of the mattress, then climbed into the boxers as directed. His eyes were fixed on Sam with a strange gleam to them which made Sam a little nervous, but he was growing used to Dean watching him get undressed and dressed. Didn't mean he liked it, but....
"Wanna wear Sammy's," Dean said, suddenly appearing at Sam's side and plucking the faded Black Sabbath teeshirt out of his hand before he could react. He looked up at Sam, equal parts anxious and defiant, patting Sam's chest awkwardly with the hand not holding the shirt. "Please?"
Sam was a little startled but this was a compromise he could live with. Besides, it had been Dean's teeshirt before Sam had left for college; it hadn't been an accident that it had gotten packed with Sam's things when he'd left.
"Sure, Dean," Sam assured him, rubbing Dean's bare upper back gently. He could feel the bones beneath the skin, the knobs of Dean's spine, and he was glad that they were staying with Missouri, where Dean could be sure of getting good, healthy, filling food three times a day. He definitely needed more meat on him. "You wear that."
"What will you wear?" Dean asked, abruptly concerned, clutching the teeshirt to his chest and biting at his lower lip.
"I'll wear one of my tanks," Sam said, taking it out of the drawer and pulling it on, matching his actions to his words. It was faded and soft, and Dean stepped forward, running a tentative hand down the line of Sam's chest and stomach through the thin material. Sam fought to contain a shiver of arousal at what he certainly hoped was an innocent touch.
"You got really bigger, Sammy," Dean said, sounding awed and a little disconcerted. He looked up, meeting Sam's eyes, his brow crinkled, lips drawing down at the corners, then butted up against Sam's torso, leaning into him. "When did you get bigger?"
"While I was in college," Sam told him, going with the easy answer because Dean didn't need to be reminded of the years that had passed while he had been being held in captivity. He cleared his throat, swallowing thickly, the bitter salt of tears stinging in the back of his eyes, flooding his nose, and tainting the base of his tongue. "But I'm still me, Dean. I'm still your Sammy," he husked.
Dean nodded, his soft hair brushing against Sam's shoulder where it was bared by the tank. "I know."
Sam ran his fingers through the loose curls, holding Dean close, grateful for the contact. It was good to have solid, tangible proof that he had his brother back. After two years of being alone, of not knowing, he had Dean in his arms. As Dean had pointed out, Sam was the older, larger brother now; so it was his turn to be the overprotective big brother. And Sam was going to take good care of Dean.
"My Sammy," Dean sighed, sounding happy, and Sam was glad for all of a moment... until one of Dean's hands wandered down his belly and a little too close to the waistband of his pajama bottoms for his peace of mind.
"Hey." He pushed Dean gently away, ignoring the sound of discontent that Dean loosed. The only way he could deal with this without freaking out was by ignoring the sexual implications. "You want me to help you put that shirt on?"
Dean stared up at him with hooded eyes, green dark and clear around dilated pupils, his lips parted in a pretty pink circle. Sam held his breath, waiting for Dean to push the issue and praying that he wouldn't, because he didn't know how he would deal with that... but then Dean simply nodded. "Okay."
It was a good thing, too, because even with Sam's help it was something of a struggle to get Dean into the article of clothing in question.
Dean emerged, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, but a little gleam of triumph in his eyes. Sam wondered whether it was because they'd gotten the teeshirt onto him, or if it was because Dean had gotten his way and was now wearing "Sammy's" shirt to bed. Not that he minded, either way. He was just glad that they hadn't gotten into an argument. Right now Dean wasn't capable of weathering any real conflict; not and come out of it with his ego and equilibrium intact.
"There you go," Sam smiled, smoothing the worn material over his brother's skinny shoulders. He had to admit it, he was just glad to have gotten Dean into a shirt, any shirt at all, even if this one was too big, hanging lower than the hem of the boxers around Dean's thighs. At least Dean wasn't naked now.
As to how long that would last.... Well, Sam decided it was best not to dwell on that. No need to borrow trouble. This was the first night they'd be spending together since Dean remembered who he was, so it was bound to be different in some ways than the nights before. Maybe tonight Dean would actually keep his clothes on and wouldn't go wandering.
"Are you ready to go to bed now??" he queried, trying to tame Dean's wild curls as his brother leaned into him again, arms ringing his chest this time.
"Uh-huh." Dean nodded, yawning against Sam's chest and sending sensual shivers through the surface of Sam's skin as his breath gusted hot and moist through the cloth of his tank. Shit. That shouldn't be sexy at all! Maybe sensual, Sam was willing to admit to that... but not sexy!
Sam maneuvered Dean over to the bed, untangling them both so that he could fold back the covers. He helped Dean up onto the mattress and between the sheets. The scarf he'd used to bind them together the night before was lying curled on the nearer pillow and Dean picked it up, fingering it curiously. Sam claimed it from him carefully, earning himself a unreadable, dark-eyed look. There wasn't any point in tying them together tonight, so he crossed to put the scarf in a dresser drawer.
"Sammy, you come to bed too," Dean piped up behind him, his voice -- that teenaged voice with its childlike inflections, not a man's voice any longer -- tight and his tone anxious. His knuckles were white where he fisted the blanket over his legs, his eyes huge and his face completely open.
Sam drew in a harsh breath, gulping down the fear and uncertainty that washed over him, seeing his brother like this. Always, while they had been growing up, Dean had hidden his true emotions, kept up a brave front, had taken care of Sam and their father even when he had been young. Now it was Sam's turn. But he could handle it. He could, because he had to.
"I'm just going to turn the light off and I'll be right there," he soothed, fighting to keep his voice level, reaching over and flipping the switch. The lamp beside the bed was still on, casting Dean in a warm golden glow and bringing out the bright highlights in his hair, masking the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked all of twelve in this moment and that made Sam feel all kinds of uncomfortable for all sorts of reasons that he wasn't prepared to explore.
Suiting his actions to his words, he took the three steps back over to the bed and slid in next to Dean, pulling the covers over both of them. Dean curled immediately up against him, clinging tightly, and Sam could feel his brother's heart beating a rapid tattoo between them. He wondered what had gotten Dean so upset, decided not to ask, instead holding Dean close and rubbing spiraling circles over his hunched back. After a few minutes Dean relaxed, his breathing slowing and his desperate grip loosening.
"I'm here, Dean," Sam murmured, and it was a statement of the obvious, but Dean seemed to need to hear it. "I'm here and you're here and neither of us is going anywhere. You're safe now."
"Safe now," Dean echoed, his arms squeezing tighter around Sam's waist for a moment before loosening. "Sammy, you're bigger now, but you got softer," Dean commented, a hand resting on the dip of Sam's waist. He sounded curious, not disapproving or amused, but Sam still flushed.
"Well.... I haven't been hunting, Dean," he said, fighting the urge to squirm, trying to make it sound like an explanation and not an excuse. It wasn't like he was flabby! He just wasn't pure muscle and sinew, like he and Dean had both been three years ago, since before they had even hit puberty. "I've been at college for the last three years. I spend more time studying than exercising. And Dad hasn't been around to make me train."
Dean was silent, and Sam chose to think that he was digesting this information. His hand was a warm weight on Sam's side, that he was overly conscious of, but it wasn't moving.
Sam rested one of his own hands on Dean's back, holding his brother close to him, breathing in the scent of Dean. And he did smell like Sam's brother now, unlike that first night after they'd gotten him back. There was still the lingering sweetness of vanilla on his soft skin, because with everything John had thought to buy for Dean, he hadn't gotten him his own bathing supplies, and Dean was still using Sam's. But otherwise, it was all Dean, a fragrance that Sam hadn't even been aware of missing until he had gotten it back. And now he wondered how he had ever lived without it.
"Dad was hunting?" Dean ventured, sounding as though he was trying to work things out.
"He was looking for you," Sam corrected. "Dad has spent the last two years looking for you, Dean. And he finally found you."
"Oh." Dean was silent a while longer. Then, "Are you going back to college, Sammy?" he wanted to know.
"I'm not sure," Sam answered honestly. "I'm still trying to figure that out. I'm just.... I'm just so glad to have you back...." He broke off and cleared his throat.
"It's okay, Sammy," Dean assured him, fingers curling into the material of his tank. "I'm glad you came back too. I missed you."
Sam wasn't going to ask exactly what Dean had meant because, honestly, he didn't want to know. Even if Dean was only talking about the period when Sam was at college, for that first half year before the Melusine... well, that was heartbreaking enough. Anything beyond that was just unbearable.
Dean's mouth met his in the dark, but it was soft and sweet, and with his eyes closed, Sam almost felt like it was natural, normal.
"It's time to go to sleep now," he said, pulling back after a moment. That had been... strangely okay. But he wasn't going to let it go any further. "I'm really tired. All right, Dean?"
And if he had to use Dean's own sense of in-built responsibility against him, well, after all he was only manipulating Dean into something that was good for him. So it was justifiable... right?
"If you're tired you need to sleep, Sammy." Dean's palm flattened against his side, his hand warm and heavy where it had settled. In the dark Sam could almost pretend that he had his big brother back, even though he and Dean had never cuddled in bed like this as adults. But to pretend would be to do Dean a disservice. Dean was as he was now, and that was all right.
"It was a long day," Sam offered, and it did seem like it had been forever and an age since they'd woken up. Dean hadn't known who he was, he hadn't known who Sam was, and he still hadn't been talking. Already things were so much better, and Sam trusted that they'd continue to improve.
Dean yawned widely, cuddling up as close to Sam as he could get, slinging one leg over Sam's thighs and nestling his cheek into the dip between Sam's pectoral and collarbone. "G'night, Sammy."
"Sleep tight," Sam rejoined, holding Dean close and glad for the intimacy, not uncomfortable with it in the least. Right now the barriers were down and he could only be grateful. "No bad dreams, all right?"
"I only have bad dreams," Dean said, and it was so matter-of-fact that it made Sam ache with sadness. "But now at least I know I can wake up from them."
"When you wake up, I'll be here," Sam husked, dropping a kiss to the top of Dean's head. It felt like a natural gesture, not lame like Dean would have mocked before. But "before" was gone and was never coming back, and while he still hoped to get Dean more back to himself, he was never going to be exactly as he had been.
"Okay, Sammy." And as though it were that simple, Dean relaxed against Sam and in minutes, he was sound asleep.
Sam wished that he could drift off so easily and effortlessly. But he needn't have worried, because within the hour he followed Dean into slumber.
***
Missouri padded into the kitchen in her slippers and pink bathrobe. It wasn't quite half past three and the early morning air was chill, but she wasn't going to be able to sleep any more. Dean might hide his thoughts and memories from her while he was awake, but during his sleep he broadcast so powerfully that if she hadn't known better, she'd have thought that he was doing it purposely.
She shivered. There was so much in that boy's head that could hurt. He was all bits and pieces, and the jagged edges rubbed against each other. There were good memories in there, from the four years he had lived in Lawrence before his Mama was killed, and fleeting moments of happiness and contentment he had stolen for himself during the rest of his childhood and some of his teens. But the last two years.... Well, they had broken the boy, and Missouri thought that if she didn't either strengthen her own shields or teach Dean how to shield, she wasn't going to get another night's decent sleep while he was in her house.
She'd already known she wasn't the only one awake, even before she smelled the coffee and saw the strip of light at the base of the kitchen door. John hadn't bothered going to bed at all, but at least he'd managed to keep his thoughts quiet enough that they hadn't disturbed her. Whether he knew how to shield, or whether his maundering was simply drowned out by Dean's louder dreaming, she didn't know. At this hour of the morning, she didn't really care.
"John, you really ought to sleep," she chided gently as she entered the kitchen. She wasn't sure what the trouble was; dinner had gone well, and Dean had seemed to have no problems with the gun cleaning. The boy was talking again and recognized his father and brother. In so far as things could be, they were going well.
John looked up from his journal. There was a cup of coffee by his left hand and his cell phone by his right. He really didn't look tired, if you ignored the dark shadows under his eyes. And he actually smiled at Missouri.
"I'm all right," he assured her, and she could tell that he believed it, as far as that went.
Missouri sighed, crossing the room and pouring herself a cup of coffee. Generally she preferred tea, but she was awake for the day at three-thirty a.m. -- she was going to need a little extra fortifying.
"Besides, you're up," John said absently, picking up his pen, his eyes fixed on the page before him. Missouri was willing to bet that his coffee was ice cold and that he'd drink it anyway.
"So I am," Missouri said mildly, stirring cream into her brew. John had made it a lot stronger than she liked so she added a little extra cream. She wasn't going to tell John that it was due to his son's nightmares that she was awake. The man had enough on his plate without that added.
"All right. So what are you doing?" she queried, sitting down across the table from him. She suspected that she already knew, but she wanted to hear it from the man himself.
"Research," John informed her, not even raising his gaze from the journal before him. "I have to figure out that mark on Dean's neck, and find out how to remove it."
Missouri nodded silently. She had suspected as much. John couldn't even give himself one day to be glad that Dean was back, that his son was able to remember who he was, was speaking again. Already he was digging, forging ahead, intent on "fixing" Dean. Not that she blamed him; Dean was still a long, long way away from being healed. But really, one night of rest, of catching up on sleep, was that so much to ask?
"I already have several leads," John mumbled, sounded as though he was speaking to himself more than his hostess. "There were things that I found out before we realized that it was humans holding him...."
He trailed away, flipping journal pages, then writing a few lines on a post-it note stuck to one of them, already dark with scribbles.
Missouri shook her head and sat back, sipping delicately at her overly-strong coffee. She wasn't going to be able to help John, but she supposed it was better to sit here with him until dawn came, than to sit here alone. Better for both of them.
***
Sam woke to a feeling of immense tranquillity and mellow accomplishment. It wasn't a feeling he was used to, but, damn, it felt good. He'd slept through the night, and Dean was still in his arms; he hadn't gone wandering. There was sunlight flowing in through the thin frilly peach curtains, and Dean was warm against him, snuffling softly into his shoulder.
"Dean?" Sam would have gladly let Dean continue sleeping, but he could see from the radio clock on the dresser that it was already nine-fifteen, and he could smell bacon cooking. Also, he really had to piss, and he didn't dare to leave Dean where he might wake alone. "Dean? Ready to wake up?"
"Mmph." Dean shifted against him, making Sam aware that they were both sporting some morning wood... but that was just the way it was, and he was going to deal with it, again, by ignoring it. That seemed the safest, sanest way. "S'mmy?"
"Smells like Missouri is making breakfast," Sam murmured, sitting up. He ran a hand through his hair, scrubbed his eyes, and then smiled down at Dean as his brother stretched and yawned widely. "Ready to get up?"
"Yeah." Dean sat up too, his hair even messier than Sam's if that were possible, his chest bare. Sam could see the Black Sabbath teeshirt squished under Dean's hip and he shook his head. Well at least Dean was still in the boxers, thank God. They were both going to need a little work before they were presentable. "I'm hungry, Sammy."
Sam grinned. This time he was the one who kissed Dean on the mouth, and to hell with "wrong" and god-awful morning breath. He loved his brother and he needed to express it. "Let's get dressed and brush our hair," he said, sliding out of bed. "Okay?"
Dean sat there motionless for a moment, giving Sam an unreadable look, and then he smiled back. Sam's stomach jumped as he realized that this was the first time Dean had smiled since they'd gotten him back. For a while there Sam hadn't thought he'd ever see it again. It was small and it didn't last long, but it was a real smile and it made his heart ache, in a good way.
"Okay, Sammy," Dean said, and he clambered out of the bed, attaching himself to Sam's side once again. And since that was where Sam wanted Dean to be, he was perfectly all right with that.
They tugged on their clothes quickly. Dean seemed quite pleased by the fact that Sam handed him a Megadeth teeshirt, and Sam made a note to tell their Dad that he'd done well when choosing Dean's clothes... if he remembered, and if they didn't get into a fight before he could.
He needn't have worried, though. John was out when they got downstairs.
"He said he had some 'recon' to do," Missouri said, her mouth pursed in disapproval, as she dished up breakfast for Dean.
"What?" Sam frowned, snagging a slice of bacon and sticking the whole thing in his mouth. He hadn't gotten to eat like this in college, and if he was going to start, he might need to begin training again. Well, Dean would probably want to, and it wasn't like it would be a bad idea or anything.
Missouri sighed and shooed Dean to the table, then got him some juice while Sam piled his own plate high. "There are some complications," she explained, "To your brother coming back younger than he was when he was taken. Your father is taking care of that. I can't say I'm too happy about him breaking the law... but he doesn't really have a lot of choice."
"Oh." Sam blinked, momentarily stunned. He hadn't thought of that. But Missouri was right. He briefly considered being outraged, but what else could John do? He needed to be able to claim Dean as his son, and Dean was younger now. Ten or eleven years younger than he should have been, and that meant that legal documents would need to be forged, records erased and re-created.... Sam boggled for a moment at the scope and the seriousness of the matter, and decided quickly that he was really glad that his father was taking care of it.
"Eat, boys," Missouri instructed, distracting Sam from his serious thoughts. Right now he was willing to let breakfast be the more important consideration. His empty stomach certainly agreed.
After they were through eating, Missouri insisted on taking Dean into her reading room without Sam. Dean pouted a little, but he seemed strangely serene and after giving Sam a tight hug and a quick kiss on his chin -- which was as far as he could reach on tip-toe without Sam bending -- he followed her dociley enough.
Once he was alone, Sam did the breakfast dishes and then sat back down at the kitchen table with some coffee. He hauled out his cell phone and gave it a wary look.
He was scared. He didn't want to turn it on, but he knew that he had to. For one thing, he couldn't be out of contact for too long, with anyone. Dad was out right now. What if he called Sam for some reason or another? He'd be pissed if it just went to voicemail. For another.... Well, Jess really did deserve to know what was going on; to talk to Sam again and to hear him explain.
Though, really, he wasn't sure what all to say. He'd been vague before; saying that his brother had been hurt and that he wasn't sure how long he'd be away, wasn't even sure he'd be back. It had been like a break-up call without the actual breaking up. They'd both cried.
Talking to Jess on the phone in that rest stop on the way to Kansas had been hard. Not the hardest thing he had ever done -- that was tied between leaving Dad and Dean for college the first time, and going back to college after Dean had been taken by the Melusine. He still wasn't sure he had made the right choice there, but he'd known then and knew now that if he hadn't gone back, he and his father would have ended up tearing each other apart in their stress and terror. And they'd both needed John to be completely focused on the search for Dean. So, right or wrong, it had been Sam's only choice.
This time he was sure he was making the right choice. Of course, that knowing hadn't made it any easier. Jess certainly hadn't understood, and he couldn't blame her for that.
She hadn't even been aware that he had a brother, and suddenly he was taking off in the middle of the night, calling her days later and telling her that he wasn't coming back. How could she be expected to take that well?
He was so afraid of checking his voicemail and hearing harsh words from her. He would deserve any she chose to deliver... but that didn't mean that he wanted to hear them.
"You've made the right decision, Sam."
Sam started, completely taken by surprise. Missouri was behind him and it hadn't even been twenty minutes yet. What was she doing in here already?
"Dean is napping," Missouri informed Sam, sitting down at the kitchen table with him. "There was something...." She trailed off and shook her head, frowning faintly. "We accessed something that shut him down, so to speak. It doesn't feel wrong. I think he'll be fine. But I don't intend to wake him before he rouses himself."
Sam echoed Missouri's frown, but he couldn't argue. She knew what was best for Dean.
"He's lying on the sofa, and I'll be going back in there soon," Missouri assured him. "I had to come in here for a moment, though, Sam, because you're projecting negativity."
"I don't mean to," Sam protested, squirming on his chair.
"Doesn't change the fact that you are," Missouri persisted, and then she just sat there, looking at him.
"I shouldn't..." Sam swallowed thickly, turning his cell phone slowly between his hands, his eyes lowered. He wasn't ready to talk to Missouri about his love life, not before he'd talked to Jess herself again. But this situation with Jess wasn't the only thing that was bothering him. And he realized this under the weight of Missouri's steady gaze. There was something else; something huge. "I've got Dean back, right? And he remembers who he is and who I am. I shouldn't... I shouldn't feel bad. I shouldn't."
"Oh, honey. "Missouri reached forward to clasp her hand over one of his, stilling its motion. She met his gaze levelly, her eyes dark and deep. "It's okay to feel bad. It is." She shook her head. "The Dean that you knew, he is never coming back. No matter what I do, no matter what you do, no matter what your Daddy does, no matter what anyone does."
Sam hung his head, biting his lip. But he knew that Missouri was right.
"You gotta give yourself time to grieve," she continued intractably. "And you've got to stop blaming yourself. It was not your fault. I know saying that isn't going to convince you, I know you feel responsible. But you're not, and Dean doesn't blame you, and he never will, and I know it's gonna be hard, but someday you've got to let it go. I'm not saying you should forgive yourself, because there's nothing to forgive. But you gotta let it go."
Sam was nodding. He knew that she was right. It made sense. But he still couldn't help but feel responsible. If not for him, Dean wouldn't have been taken by the Melusine. It was as simple as that.
"Nothing is that simple," Missouri said, and Sam grimaced, because it was just weird to have someone read his thoughts like that. Not that it was her fault. Hell, she'd said he was "projecting"; it wasn't like she was digging around in his head or anything.
"I'll think about what you said," he promised. And he really would.
"In the meantime," Missouri prodded. "Go ahead and turn on your phone. Your girl, she ain't mad at you, if that's what you think."
"That's not really what I'm scared of," Sam corrected, realizing it was true as he said it. "And she's not my girl. Not anymore."
Missouri grimaced, then her head came up and she rose to her feet. "Your brother's rousing. I gotta get back in there. Take a moment to breathe, Sam Winchester. Have a little faith that things will work out."
Sam pulled a face but he didn't argue. Because, really, at the heart of him he held out the hope that Missouri was right.
Still, he didn't get up the nerve to turn on his phone that morning. And by the afternoon he was too distracted and upset to bother.
***
Afterward, Missouri thought that she should have realized that Richie Fuller would be trouble. She ought to have foreseen and prevented him from entering her home and raising up such an almighty fuss....
But then, her power was mind reading, not seeing into the future. Sure, she'd know all along that Richie was no good, since he'd been a scrawny little fifth grader. But she'd had no way of knowing that he'd pick absolutely the worst time to cause trouble.
Damn it all, she had promised Dean that he was safe here, in her home!
Really, Richie was lucky that John was still out, and that Sam was hampered by the boy clinging to his waist. Otherwise, in Missouri's opinion, Richie would've come out of the encounter with broken bones or worse, instead of just a black eye and possibly busted nose. Sam Winchester had inherited his father's temper, and it flared hot enough to scorch Missouri's senses. It actually made her physically reel for a moment, his rage was so blindingly powerful.
Once she'd recovered, she hustled Richie out of the house, ignoring his whining and vows of reprisal. Smacking the little punk on the back of the head, she promised to call his mother -- he might be in his thirties, but that was still a valid threat. She was going to do it, too.
Richie was an idiot. He wasn't malicious, hadn't intended ill, but he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. In point of fact, at any other time he would have been nothing more than an annoyance for Missouri. But when she was harboring a broken boy in a delicate state of mind, who had only just begun speaking again, and who was terrified of any male who wasn't his father or brother... well, then one Richie Fuller barging in past the closed sign on her front door and demanding a reading and getting vocal when she refused, was one idiot too many.
Richie wasn't even all that loud or forceful. But he was a male that Dean didn't know, in a space that the boy had been assured was safe, and he certainly wasn't quiet.
Sam hadn't helped matters, for all he had been leaping to his brother's defense. In fact, Missouri was sure that it was as much Sam's violence as it was Richie's presence that had frightened Dean.
And the poor boy had been doing so well.
Missouri would have smacked Sam too, but Dean was already beyond upset and besides, the mood he was in, Sam might very well have forgotten himself and hit her back. He was that furious.
It was about all that she could do to get both the boys calmed down and settled on the sofa in the living room before their father got back. She drew John aside and explained things quietly, so he didn't question why Sam and Dean were twined together until it was virtually impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. He just greeted them both calmly and sat with them, the television on quietly, while Missouri made dinner.
It certainly wasn't as pleasant a meal as the night before had been. Dean responded to questions with little nods or shakes of his head, but his eyes were wide and dark with fear again and his face was pale. Missouri thought of all the progress lost and she was torn between sadness and anger. And, no, she was not going to give John Winchester Richie Fuller's address, no matter how fervently he demanded she do so.
Dean had been doing better... but, then, they had only seen him around his father, his brother, and Missouri. She hadn't been expecting to work miracles, but it was disheartening for all of them to see that there was so far yet to go.
She had almost given up, decided to write off the entire day in a burst of pessimism that was alien to her nature, when there was a low growl of a car engine outside her house, and each Winchester male straightened.
Dean's mouth fell open, John grinned, and Sam's eyes gleamed with a fierce hope. And Missouri could sense from each of them that in a lot of ways, the fourth member of the family had just arrived after a two year absence.
"The Impala!"
Maybe... maybe the day wouldn't turn out to be a complete loss after all.