Note: Some of the quotes are paraphrases. Hope you don't mind.

Disclaimer: No infringement (whatever that means) intended. One o' these days I'll get my own show to play with. I promise. Then I'll leave yours alone. :D

Spoilers: "mystery spot", "dream a little dream of me", "home", "houses of the holy", "salvation"

"Half Lies"

- 1 -

Sam hadn't been the most rational and normal lately, but that was normal in itself. What bothered Dean more was the way he caught his little brother looking at him, sometimes, like he was afraid that if he looked away, Dean would be gone next time he looked again.

Dean worried about that for awhile, until Sam shot up in bed one night, scream dying before it even made it to his lips. He snapped on the lamp and demanded, "What is it? What's wrong?"

"I think..." Sam began, clutching at his head, and Dean knew the signs, didn't really need to hear the words Sam said next, "I think I just had a vision..."

"What was it?" Dean asked, coming to sit next to Sam on his bed. He touched his shoulder, wanting to comfort him, but not sure if it'd be enough.

"Demon... We need to be more careful this hunt," Sam murmured. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "God... I need some..."

"I'll get you something," Dean said, quickly, and got up. There was a chance it was just a dream. But then...

It turned out not to be.

They realized the visions had never really gone away. They'd just changed focus or something. That hunt could have gone really badly, but because of Sam's vision, it didn't. They lived... just so Dean could die in about half-a-year's time, anyway, but still... At least Sam was okay.

And strangely, Dean was more concerned about Sam's visions than he was about his eventual trip down Under. "Why didn't they go away?" he asked, over a plate of something bland and breakfasty, one morning.

Sam shook his head. There was something he wasn't telling Dean. "The mother of that one baby, Rosie--remember when we were in Salvation?" Dean nodded. "She said that when Rosie looked at people, it was almost like she knew what they were thinking, sometimes. So maybe it had nothing to do with the Yellow-Eyed Demon. Maybe the children already had whatever powers they had, and so he comes along, exploiting them."

Dean frowned at the images that conjured up. "So he keeps tabs on these third-generation, forth generation... whatever generation psychics, so he can have his army-leader or whatever after they've all duked it out and killed each other off. The fittest wins the prize, or whatever."

Sam nodded vaguely. "Yeah..."

Dean continued, "It makes sense--an older psychic, like Missouri, isn't gonna fall for his demonic spiel, but if he takes some young, innocent mind and twists it from the start, then there's a chance he can get them to do what he wants later on."

Sam started a little, like something had occurred to him. That feeling of him hiding something returned, and Dean wondered, "You think of something?"

"No, it's just..." Sam shook his head, argued, "Not all of the children had visions of Azazel. I didn't..."

Dean thought about it, offered, "Maybe he was afraid of Dad catching on."

Sam nodded, looking veiled and secretive. Dean wanted to pry the thing out of him, but he held his peace.

Then Sam wondered, "Hey... Do you think Mom...?" He looked at Dean warily, like he thought maybe he'd jump on his case for bringing her up. Dean didn't blame him. One time he'd been ready to knock Sam around for carelessly saying that she wasn't ever going to come back.

He didn't interrupt, and Sam continued, "Do you think maybe she had a power, too?"

Dean blinked, scoffed a little, but then frowned as the thought sunk in. How much did he know about his mother, really? He'd been four when she died. It wasn't old enough to know whether she sensed things, whether she had any clue what kind of darkness was out there waiting... waiting for the right time.

'...angels watching over you...'

He didn't have to agree with Sam's theory--his brother saw the possibility written all over his stunned expression.

- - -

It was less than a week later that he told Sam to take a break at Bobby's, and he went to go chat with Missouri. Kansas was like a recurring nightmare, but somehow, he made it to her door, without falling on his face.

"Why, Dean Winchester," she said, and her smile was a little sad. "You come right in, sugar." She let him enter, and he found himself quiet, not knowing how to speak to a woman who could read his mind.

'Dad is dead now' kept replaying somewhere in there, and he was sure it was going to give her a headache. But she just asked him, politely, "Would you like something to drink?"

"What, you're not gonna scold me for anything?" he replied, a bit of his usual sarcasm returning. He'd rather have her berating him than looking at him with that pity.

"You want me to?" she shot back, and he found himself at a loss for a rejoinder, as they went into the living room and sat down. She patted his knee, looked him in the eye.

"So Sam's visions have started up again. Don't worry about it. He's got a lot of ability, and that's a good thing in your line of work."

"I'm not worried," he lied. He was. She gave him a look, and he shifted uncomfortably, and blurted out, "Look, lady, I just came because I thought you might know if our mom had psychic abilities."

She stared at him, for a second, looking a little stunned. He was surprised. He hadn't thought he could say anything to her that she didn't already know. She shook her head at him. "I know what you're thinking, not what you're not thinking. When did you boys come up with that theory?"

"Sam said something," he answered, and gave a breathy scoff. "I don't think it's--"

"Don't go lyin' to my face," she interrupted. "If you didn't think there was a possibility, you wouldn't have come here."

He gave her an annoyed glare, and she hesitated for a moment too long. He knew she knew something, and finally she said, "I think maybe your mama knew something before she died. Maybe she knew who he was, the yellow-eyed demon, or maybe she knew baby Sammy was in danger, so she went up to check on him. Who knows? It's possible she had a vision... woke her up in the middle of the night. Sent her to your brother's nursery..."

She searched his face, and a frown appeared between her brows. "What was it that woke you up, hon? Did you smell the smoke?"

Dean stiffened, started to tell her off, and then realized she wasn't trying to push his buttons. "I don't know... I just remember being there, Dad handing me Sammy..." He swallowed, shrugged. "And the rest is history." History. Past. Over.

She shook her head, looking more and more troubled, as if there was something she couldn't dislodge. "You've locked it all up, oh, so tight. No wonder I didn't notice when you came in here with that bright and shining beacon of a brother, last time."

She reached for his cheek, and he flinched, but she laid her hand on his face, anyway. "Oh... dear..." she murmured, and dropped her hand, looked down at her lap for the longest time.

He didn't ask her because he didn't want to know. "Sometimes it gets out, doesn't it?" she asked him, and he froze... a deer in a hunter's crosshairs. "You think it's just instinct, but it's something more, and you've sensed it all along. You were just afraid of it, afraid to be any stranger or more alien than you already were."

He stood up, unwilling to let her finish. He already knew what she was going to say, and he wasn't ready to hear it yet. "You don't know me," he told her, coldly, "Just stay out of my head, lady."

"Dean Winchester," she retorted, getting to her feet, and pointing a finger in his direction. "You can't walk away from who you are, boy. You walk out of here, and yourself follows wherever you go, just like a shadow. You're gonna have to look in that mirror some time, and admit what you see, even if it isn't pretty."

He flinched, hearing his own voice... inner demon mocking, 'You hate the face you see in the mirror...'

"See you around," he said, stiffly and practically ran away. And he knew she'd heard him, the thing that had spoken, the thing he couldn't deny he was.

- - -

When he got back, Sam and Bobby were discussing the best methods of cooking fish. He rolled his eyes and wondered, "I'd save that for if you ever catch one."

"Dean, back so soon?" Bobby retorted, and tossed him a flask full of holy water.

Dean took a sip, tossed it back. "Yeah, the chicks are getting uglier. And I couldn't get drunk enough not to mind."

Sam pulled a face at the lame joke. "Where'd you really go, Dean?"

"Missouri's," he answered. "She says 'hi.'" He was getting a headache... had been, ever since he'd left her place and started back.

"God, I'm starved," he said, "You still have food in your fridge, Bobby, or did Sammy eat it all?" He started up the steps and went into the house.

Sam followed him, and confronted him as he started scavanging in the kitchen. "What did she say?"

"Said you had a big head, and she didn't want to hurt your feelings last time by telling you to your face."

"Dean," Sam retorted, annoyed.

Dean stuck some leftover hamburger helper in the microwave. The microwave hummed, and Sam spoke over it, "Dean, what did she tell you?"

He waited until the microwave beeped. Then he turned to Sam and answered, "She said Mom was probably a psychic. But she didn't know for sure."

Sam swallowed, looked ashamed. Dean's headache got worse, and he turned and got the food out of the microwave to hide his wince. He was trying to put it on the little round table, when everything blurred and spun. He felt himself falling and then stopping, suddenly.

"Dean!"