P3
Throughout the day, Harper's voice taunts John. The silent accusation that he'd had something to do with Mary's death hovers over him, practically tangible in its weight. John knows the truth, but the accusation fuels his need to self-recriminate, adds to the guilt that he didn't stop it, didn't push Mary harder for answers, wasn't aware until it was too late.
The what-he-did/didn't-do ate at John's soul as much as, if not more than, the image of Mary pinned on the ceiling. He has, since the fire, constantly berated himself that he didn't save Mary. Now he has to be honest with himself; he had known before the fire that something was wrong, that Mary had been keeping something from him. He had known that, had known there was something going on when he walked out - it had been why he walked out. She had only been trying to protect him and the boys, but why had she felt that she had to do it all by herself, that she had to protect him by not telling him the truth? He doesn't know - can't even guess at her reasons. What he does know is that she had known something was going to happen. In his gut, John knows that Mary had tried to stop it, had tried to prevent whatever it was that took her from them.
In the end, it all comes back to the single impossible question: how the hell did she end up on the ceiling? Who cut her open and left her bleeding out like some kind of inverted sacrifice?
John doesn't have an answer and neither do the police nor forensics, apparently, and that's because the whole damn thing doesn't make a lick of sense. What he saw that night was unnatural, unworldly, illogical, simply impossible… the word turns around in John's mind until a quote from Sherlock Holmes surfaces, Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth. He saw it with his own eyes; it's not impossible, then, just wildly improbable, and he has to prepare himself for the, likely even more improbable, explanation.
It's a truth he has to face, to figure out. Ignoring it - pretending he didn't see what he saw - hiding out here at Mike and Kate's place isn't going to give him any answers. John needs those answers. If he's going to have any hope of protecting the boys from whatever took their mother, he needs to know what it is that he's fighting. Glancing at clock, he decides there's enough time to get downtown and leave before school lets out. John turns to look at Dean, "Hey kiddo, want to go for a ride?"
Dean looks up, then his eyes drift toward Sammy in an unspoken question. "We're going to take him with us. As long as he's quiet, we can stay a little while." Confused, Dean just stares, so John pats him on the head and takes the lead. "Come on, let's get Sammy ready."
It doesn't take them long to get dressed, loaded into the car, and on their way.
John notes that the parking lot of the library is empty as he pulls in. This isn't exactly a surprise in the middle of the day, but they only have a couple of hours before school lets out and then the library will be brimming with people. After getting out of the car, John settles Sammy into the stroller he had stashed in the trunk from last time they had gone to the park.
Inside, John strolls over to the help desk. The woman turns and smiles when she sees the stroller with Sammy nestled inside, and her face practically lights up at the sight of Dean attentively watching Sammy. John can tell she recognizes Dean but can't place him. Then she glances up to see John, and her smile falters. She clearly recognizes him, and her eyes go glassy as she silently offers her sympathies, biting her lips.
John cringes at the gesture, wanting to leave, wanting to avoid the sudden realization that every time he leaves the house he is going to face this scrutiny, these looks of condolence… of pity, that, from now on, it's going to be something he sees on everyone's faces. This is something he is going to have to deal with for a long time. It will be fresh for at the least for the next several weeks, and then the upcoming holidays… He can't even bear to think about those now.
Holding his ground, John nods his thanks then clears his throat. "I'm looking for…" Nervously John trails off, searching for the right word, for something reasonable to describe what he's searching for. What he wants is answers, but where to start searching - what category? Lacking a better description he nervously blurts out, "spiritual books."
It turns out to be the exact right thing to say. The corners of her mouth lift slightly, and she offers them a somber smile before directing John to the appropriate section while grabbing a few picture books for Dean. John scans the titles while Dean squats down to kneel on the floor and entertain Sammy.
John only has an hour to spend combing through the books before they have to check out and leave because Sammy starts to get fussy despite Dean's efforts to entertain him. The librarian helps him establish a new library card, but John catches the moment when her face falls after she connects the theme of his chosen titles – each book deals with the paranormal. Her goodbyes to the boys sound more strained than her greeting.
They make it back outside to the Impala. John carries the stack of books, letting Dean help guide the stroller. Before heading back to Kate and Mike's place, John decides to stop at McDonald's. He briefly considers going inside, but after a glance in his rearview mirror shows Dean's body slumped against Sam's car seat, he decides on the drive-thru. Usually whenever Dean spots the golden arches he's eager, bouncing around in his seat, wanting to stop and get a Happy Meal, but since Mary's death Dean is constantly lethargic and entirely too quiet. There's no doubt in John's mind that Dean knows where they are; he just doesn't care. John goes ahead and orders what Dean usually likes, a cheeseburger, fries, and an orange soda.
Back at the house, John gets Sammy out of his car seat. With one hand he holds Sammy and the diaper bag over his shoulder and passes his lunch to Dean who already has grabbed his own lunch and soda. Once they're inside, John spots a note from Kate stating that she'll be back before dinner, but if they get hungry to go ahead and help themselves. With the house empty, John decides to stay downstairs. John drops the diaper bag on the table in the family room. Spotting a highchair, he pulls it closer to the table and sets Sammy in. Pulling a chair out for Dean, he calls over his shoulder that he'll be right back, he's just going to grab the books.
When John returns a minute later, he finds Dean smiling at Sammy, his Happy Meal already open, the cheeseburger unwrapped and half the patty gone. Several pieces ripped from the patty lie scattered on the paper. Sammy is busy chewing, his arms stretched out toward Dean, fists curling and opening excitedly in a 'give me' gesture, waiting for the next piece. Dean grins, completely focused on Sammy, and he picks up another small piece of meat to feed his brother.
John can't deny he's missed seeing Dean's smile. It warms his heart, but, glancing over at Dean's half-finished burger, John sighs. He doesn't want to reprimand Dean, but it's easy to see his son has been following his example too closely. Gingerly, he makes his presence known and pulls a chair out to sit down. Dean's smile disappears when he catches John's knowing look, and he drops his head, hair hanging down over his eyes. John pulls out his Big Mac and fries and flattens the bag before unwrapping his burger and spilling the fries out beside it. He takes one all-beef patty from the Big Mac and slips it into Dean's discarded bun. "You finish that half before Sammy finishes it for you. He's not the only growing Winchester around here, is he?"
Dean looks back up, his lips pressed together, and shakes his head, no. "Didn't think so. If Sammy wants more you can feed him the rest - after you finish—." John grins and takes a large bite, chewing greedily, purposely making mmm sounds like he's starved and the Big Mac is the most delicious thing he's ever eaten. What John really feels is disgusted, but he chews each bite with gusto. He purposefully ignores how his stomach rebels with each swallow and forces each mouthful down. John continues the act, smiling as he snags a few fries gestures at Dean's food to encourage his eldest to eat.
Tentatively Dean picks up his own cheeseburger and takes a small bite. John's barely a third of the way through with his burger when he stops, knowing if he doesn't he'll be showing Dean what not to do with his food - techniques of upchucking, for example. He glances over to what is left of Dean's burger, and is thankful to see it's gone and his son is chewing the last bite. Though Dean finishes it's obvious that he's more concerned with helping Sammy eat the other half of a patty. Then it occurs to him, Sammy is the only one with an appetite. Pleased with his solution, John almost chuckles at the thought as he tears up small bites - it's a good thing Sammy's a growing boy.
Sammy squeals in delight as John joins Dean in putting small bits of burger in front of Sammy. John catches Dean's eye, and they both share a grin over Sammy's antics and delight at eating grown-up food.
For the moment things are light and comfortable, and John feels good enough to break the quiet. "How's about we stay down here and watch some TV?" Dean nods. It pains John to see his son so uncharacteristically silent. Dean's always been overly exuberant and, from the moment he started talking, has been an inquisitive motor mouth, asking question after question about everything. John tries to remember the last time he heard Dean actually talk that wasn't staggered with hiccups or mumbled between tears while John held Dean's small frame against him... Determined to hang on to this tranquility, John stands and starts to clean up their mess - first on the table, then on Sammy. Grabbing the diaper bag, John moves toward the couch and spreads a blanket down before laying Sammy down to change him. Once Sammy's clean, changed and settled in his rocker seat with Dean beside him, John clicks on the TV and grabs a couple of books to browse through.
When Kate comes through the door, John startles awake. At some point he must have fallen asleep. Before he can even cast a guilty glance down, John realizes Dean is curled up beside him, asleep. He indicates to an embarrassed-looking Kate that Dean's sleeping before he leans forward and puts the book on the coffee table in front of him. Then he carefully picks Dean up and stands. He motions to Kate that he'll be back after he puts Dean down to bed.
Going upstairs with Dean's sleeping body plastered against his chest reminds John of the numerous times he's carried Dean up to bed to tuck him in. Though the weight of Dean's body is the same, and the trust and the safety Dean feels within his arms, Dean unconsciously clutches tighter in sleep, and John can feel his son's pain and is struck again by their loss. John's guilt gives voice to the painful words of disappointment Dean will never utter about how his daddy didn't save Mommy.
John didn't. He can't deny that simple truth. That acknowledgement leaves an ache, an emptiness, far greater than Dean's weight on John's very soul.
Once he has Dean in bed, John makes his way back downstairs to collect Sammy. He hears Kate bustling around in the kitchen while he picks up the books he's left on the couch, slings the diaper bag over his shoulder and gingerly picks up Sammy using the rocker before he makes his way back upstairs.
With the boys settled, John goes to retrieve the pile of books he'd left behind. Making his way toward the family room, he can see Kate standing over the pile, shifting the books in the stack in order to read the titles. As he nears, she looks up, and the worried expression on her face is palpable. It's obvious she's about to voice that concern. John doesn't let her and simply tells her, "Don't," before snatching the books away and returning to his room.
John continues to read for the rest of the afternoon and into the night, only breaking to feed both boys and change Sammy until they fell asleep again later that night. John following into small fits of sleep throughout the night.
First thing in the morning, John's up to feed and dress the boys, so he can pack them into the car to make a supply run at the drug store. There he buys a stack of yellow legal pads, pens, pencils, and a leather journal.
The rest of the week falls into a routine. Shortly after breakfast, they head off to the library for research. It starts at their local library, and, by mid-week, he's read and returned dozens of books, and he has another dozen books on a waiting list to check out when they become available. He starts researching fires in and out of Lawrence, going through the newspapers in the stacks and those dating back even further that are on microfiche. He's searching for a pattern, for an M.O. By the end of the second week, John's quest for more information expands into the college library.
Scratching notes, taking down addresses and eventually finding those who had a fire - he asks the questions that no is asking him, asking if they felt or saw anything strange… It's difficult to not ask outright, but he doesn't. It helps when he continues to take Sam and Dean with him. It makes it easier for John to only hint at the possibility of something supernatural.
Each day he returns later in the afternoon, and he faces Kate who doesn't bother to hide her concern or her anxiety.
John ignores her. He doesn't want to get into a fight, and John knows that if he were to tell Kate the truth of what he saw – if he were to tell Mike, they wouldn't believe him anyway. The more he actively avoids Kate and Mike, the more the tension in the house grows - increasing each day - until it reaches palpable levels.
At the end of that first week, John has an appointment to see a psychic. Whatever it was that he saw the night of the fire, it was far outside the norm. Somewhere, he got the idea that maybe a psychic might know what it was or might at least be able to direct him to someone or someplace where he will be able to get answers.
The first appointment is a bust; it's obvious this guy is a fake, on the make like so many other frauds. Though discouraging, this doesn't stop John from calling another psychic to make another appointment. In the end, he goes down the list of those who advertise in the yellow pages and in the classified section of the newspaper.
A couple of days before Thanksgiving, John makes an appointment with Missouri Mosely. It doesn't appear particularly promising if he goes strictly by her ad, a small blurb stating, 'You can find the answers at Missouri's.' He grimaces at the lousy pun, but his list of psychics in Lawrence is getting shorter. He'll keep the appointment, hanging on to the lesson he learned the hard way in 'Nam about how appearances can be deceiving.
Tuesday, the day of his appointment, John keeps up their new routine, packing up the boys and heading out to the library. Afterwards John stops at McDonald's to purchase lunch before he meets with the psychic. He pulls into the parking lot of the park, where they have been eating every day, weather permitting. Together, they move in synch, Dean balances the bags of their lunch while John holds Sammy on his hip and retrieves the stroller. They walk out together to a picnic table near the set of swings.
Thankfully John doesn't have to do anything in order to get Dean to eat anymore as his son's appetite is slowly improving each day. It still isn't like it had been, before, when, if given the chance, Dean could put away an entire Big Mac by himself. Of course, Mary had not been too keen on giving the boy the chance. Now Dean barely finishes his cheeseburger and only picks at the fries.
Looking around, John has to admit it's nice and quiet, a good day to stop and eat. John tips his head up and closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun washing over his face. It's unusually warm for this time of year, the tail end of a long stretch of Indian summer. It's not hot enough to take their jackets off, but it is warm enough that they don't need their heavy winter coats. Opening his eyes, John turns to Dean and watches him watching over Sammy, watches how Dean's eyes follow and stay attuned to Sammy's every need and move - just as John is acutely aware of both his sons, and everything around them.
At the abrupt noise of a few kids racing toward the swings, John swallows and tries to recall the last time Dean had acted so carefree. He only knows it was before the fire and before he and Mary started fighting. He remembers when he routinely took Dean to the park it was sometime back in late June after Sammy was born. John made time to take Dean to watch all the games his best friend Scott and his team the Hawks played. At the time of sign-ups for T-ball, Dean was too young since the rules stated that any player had to be five by the time the season started. Scott turned five in the middle of June, squeaking in just before the deadline.
Dean seemed to be okay just watching, though. It probably helped that by then Dean had his own glove. John practiced throwing and catching with Dean in the backyard, and they went to the park as often as John could manage. Often on weekend mornings, before it got too hot, Mary would lay out a blanket and sit outside with Sammy to watch them practice. By the end of the summer, Dean was good, a natural, better than half the kids older than him, including his best friend Scott.
Thinking of Scott, John wonders if Dean misses him. Scott wasn't at the funeral, but John recalls that his parents were. They tried to talk to Dean, but Dean wasn't having it, hadn't been willing to talk to anyone and had hid behind John until they left.
Breaking the silence, John casually asks Dean if he misses Scott. Dean only shrugs in response. Watching the other kids chasing each other, John adds that if Dean wants to see Scott, they can call. Dean doesn't look up. He simply shakes his head no.
John can't help himself and he pushes on, mentions that if Dean wants to go play, go down the slide, or the swings he'll be happy to push him. Dean declines, and John helplessly watches his son draw further in, giving every scrap of attention to Sammy. Dean always adored Sammy, but now he's sure Dean's single focus on Sammy stems more from the same fear that motivates John – the fear that he could abruptly lose Sammy the same way he lost Mary.
Facing the sun, John blinks against the day's brightness while images from before the fire of Dean laughing and playing flash through his mind. He has to wonder if he'll ever see Dean so carefree again. The thought is sobering and weighs heavily on John.
Finishing lunch, they quietly clean up and make their way back to the car – the laughter of the kids who are running around playing taunting John the whole time. Even as he starts the car and pulls away, their laughter rings in John's head only to be replaced by the sound of Dean's laughter - a sound John fondly remembers, but hasn't heard in some time. John's eyes shift, and he glances up to the rearview mirror to see Dean gazing out the window.
John recoils as the memory of his son's laughter fades to be replaced by a loud, booming voice. It's his own voice, angry, flames crackling behind the accusations as John's conscience silently damns him for allowing all of this happen. His hands clutch around the steering wheel as he tries to regain his focus. Hoping to drown out the internal monologue of damnation, John pushes a cassette into the tape deck, letting the sounds of the Allman Brothers filter through the speakers and drown out his thoughts. Rolling the window down, he ups the volume as he pulls out.
By the time John pulls into Missouri's driveway, he's wound tight, discouraged and wondering if he's just wasting his time and money. Still, he opens the backdoor to un-strap Sammy and place him in the rocker. Dean scoots out as John shoulders the diaper bag, hoping he won't have to change Sammy until after they leave. He's about to ring the bell when the door swings open. A young woman in jeans and a tee-shirt is standing there, impatient with one hand holding the door open, the other holding the door jamb as her eyes look him up and down before settling on his face. Clearly unimpressed with what she sees, she snaps. "You're late."
It's abrupt, and John is suddenly feeling unsure, but he's come this far. He returns her brash appraisal. She's not what he imagined - younger than he thought, and… normal for a lack of a better description. The other psychics had dressed the part with scarves and turbans, like they were auditioning for a bad B movie. He tilts his head and offers a placating smile. She stares at him for a second longer, then her lips twitch into a smile and her eyes soften, lighting up her entire face. She leans toward him, and her smile widens warmly as she clasps both of her hands around the one he's offered. She knows his name, Dean's, Sammy's. It's not exactly strange since he does have an appointment, and his face, name, and recent history have been in the paper and on the news numerous times since the fire.
No, it's more the genuineness of how she greeted him and the kindness and warm affection that follow her actions. The typical sorrow and empathy was also there, but there was more than that, something he couldn't put his finger on or explain - a respect, an understanding. When she turns to Dean, she doesn't offer what too many adults do. She doesn't contort her face into an exaggerated pout to offer her sympathy. Instead, her smile is affectionate as she acknowledges Dean before waving them both inside.
Once inside the living room, she turns her attention to Dean rather than John. She asks Dean if he had enough to eat at lunch? She doesn't wait for an answer but goes on and offers her unsolicited opinion about what she thought about eating any meal from a fast-food restaurant. Then she lowers her voice, conspiratorially confessing that she enjoys McDonald's french fries. Nevertheless, she remains adamant that their food isn't substantial or very appetizing. Almost absently she asks Dean if he has room for anything else.
Dean blinks, surprised she knows what they had for lunch. He doesn't answer verbally, only offers a reluctant nod. John can see, though, that Missouri is winning him over. Dean's lips are pulling up at the corners, tilting from an awed expression into a small and less hesitant smile than the one he offered her at the door.
Missouri returns the gesture then fusses over Sammy who gurgles as she looks down at him and declares, "My, aren't you big! Dean, right?"
Dean is suddenly fidgeting in amusement; it's unmistakable when Dean's lips twitch again over Missouri's mistake, stretching out into a full smile.
John catches her eye as she winks, before she leans over Sammy to let him grab her finger. "Strong too, judging by the grip he has on my finger. Real strong." Addressing Sammy she asks, "You gonna be big and strong as your brother, as Sammy?"
Throwing his head back, Dean bursts out laughing. John's startled by the sound - actual laughter. Dean shakes his head no before telling her, "No, that's Sammy. I'm Dean."
She plays up to Dean, looking back and forth between the brothers. "Oh, well, you're pretty big too." A bell goes off, interrupting their newly established repartee, and she turns toward the sound before turning back and looking directly at Dean. "You've got good timing too. Maybe you can help me? I did a few batches of cookies. You like cookies?" She doesn't wait for Dean's response before adding, "It's my mama's recipe, hot from the oven. Think you have room for a few cookies?"
Hair flopping, Dean's head bobs enthusiastically before he suddenly remembers John's there. Dean turns toward him, silently asking permission. Dazed at seeing Dean so - well, so iDean/i - John can only laugh as he nods his assent.
Missouri hardly waits before heading into the kitchen. "Well, come on. then. We can't let 'em burn." Dean dashes after her, scooting closer to her side as they walk toward the kitchen. She holds the door open for Dean and hollers out, "Come on, John, you can watch."
John stands frozen by the front door, not acknowledging that his eyes are watering. He's overcome by Dean's response to this lady and the realization of how much he's missed his son. John inhales, exhales and tries to regain his composure. Just as he starts to feel steadier, Dean runs back, grabbing John's free hand and pulling. "Come on, Daddy. She made lots and lots of cookies. Especia- I mean, she made sugar cookies, and she said we could decorate. Come on…" Dean pleads as he tugs again, excited to get John to move. A second later, John obeys and follows Dean into the kitchen.
It's only as Dean drags him into the kitchen that he notices the heavy scent of baked cookies. Dean didn't exaggerate when he said Missouri had made a lot. There are something like a few dozen cookies scattered around the kitchen. John was too preoccupied to notice the smell when he arrived, too preoccupied with wondering if this was yet another dead-end. Opening the door, the smell hits like a heavy wave, the delicious mouth-watering aroma of fresh baked cookies smacking him in the face. Dean lets go and rushes over to Missouri. John can't do anything but stand there, holding Sammy as he takes in the sight before him.
The kitchen is spacious, light and comfortable. On one counter, there are three plates piled high with cookies, each plate holding a different variety of cookie. Moving closer, he can see that one is chocolate chip, another peanut butter but the third isn't something he can tell by just looking. From behind him, Missouri tells him, "Coconut, my mama's favorite. You'll have to give it a try." John turns and notices she isn't even looking in his direction. He's facing her back; she's busy on the other side of the kitchen removing a sheet of cookies from the oven and placing them onto a rack to cool.
"Now, I need you out of my way. Winchester men are too large." John hears Dean's giggle. "You, grab a cookie and go, sit down. Dean, you stand on this stool and get ready - I'll need your help to scoop out the last batch and set the timer. Then we'll focus on those sugar cookies."
Dumbfounded, John does as he's ordered, randomly grabbing a cookie and quickly finding a place to sit down. He pauses when he sees the highchair and starts to twist around but stops as he hears the words, "You can set the rocker to the side." Without skipping a beat she continues, "Dean, honey, once your daddy puts Sammy in his seat, mind taking the rocker and putting it in the living room?"
Suddenly, Dean's waiting there by John's side. Feeling disjointed, confused, and maybe a little lost, John sits the rocker down on the floor and unstraps Sammy. Just as he has Sammy free, Dean snatches the rocker to do as Missouri asked. Dean returns with only a quick glance his way before his standing on the stool waiting for Missouri's next order while John finishes setting Sammy in the highchair.
In need of reward - not reassurance, no, never reassurance - when John finishes and sits back down, he grabs the cookie and takes a small bite; followed by a succession of larger bites while he leans back in the chair, content to watch Missouri help Dean scoop out drops of cookie dough onto a cookie sheet. As he finishes the cookie and is about to brush the crumbs to the floor, Missouri calls out, "Don't you dare mess my clean floor. You just sweep those crumbs into a napkin. Today we're going to exercise manners, understood?"
John's eyes widen and Missouri's lucky he doesn't cough out a bunch of crumbs onto her floor. He stares at Missouri's back: she never turned around. Yes, the linoleum is shiny, but there's no reflection to see his actions. Swallowing, his throat suddenly dry, John politely responds with a quiet, "Yes, ma'am."
She lets out a soft snort, and he hears her muttering to Dean, "Your daddy is a good man, but sometimes… Now, Dean, you stay right there. Don't move." She grabs a potholder and partially pulls a rack out of the oven. She twists around to grab the two trays sitting on the counter and places them inside the hot oven before pushing the rack back in and closing the door.
"John, in the pantry behind you, on the bottom shelf, there's a package of paper towels. If you'll get one roll? Okay, timer's set." Taking the empty bowl and spoon, she heads over to the sink, turns on the tap and fills the bowl with sudsy water. "You, young man, need to wash your hands. Come on over here and bring the stool with you so you can reach."
Missouri is soft-spoken, save for when she's addressing John, calm, efficient and orderly. She seems older than her years, and John has a suspicion that she'd give his old drill sergeant a run for his money. At the same time, John can't deny Missouri appears to be intuitive, sensitive and overly aware of each of their needs. While Dean dries his hands, she tells him to go take a seat after he's done, then opens the refrigerator to get milk. She pulls a few glasses down and sets them on a tray. She pours two full glasses, the third only half way, before returning the milk to the fridge. John is about to ask, to send Dean out to grab the diaper bag, when she pulls a bottle for Sammy from a shelf in the door, kicks the refrigerator shut and lays the tray out on the table with a flourish..
The rest of the afternoon is more about Dean decorating the sugar cookies and making a mess of Missouri's kitchen than anything paranormal. They don't talk directly about the fire, or Mary - even though it's the main reason why John's there in the first place. Instead, the visit feels like Missouri is a family friend they have known for years. She's very motherly, and what with all the baby supplies, John finds himself wondering why her house wasn't already filled with kids before the Winchesters arrived. He silently answers himself that she's too bossy. He isn't even exactly serious but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Missouri turns and sends him a heated glare. Blushing, he retracts the thought - if she isn't a real psychic she feels like she can read his mind - and focuses his attention on Dean, concentrates on helping him decorate cookies.
Despite his best efforts, John's mind starts wandering again soon enough. Watching Missouri go back and forth between coddling Dean and Sammy, it's hard not to think about Mary, not to think of all the times he came home to the mess after, or watched while, Dean helped Mary in the kitchen. Usually they baked brownies, cupcakes or cookies. Mary never used a boxed mix; she wanted to make everything by scratch, to be more traditional.
It was where Mary deviated from her mother. When Deanna grew up, women were expected to follow in traditional roles. Outside of marriage and having a child, Mary would beam with pride over how her mother broke with tradition - was a part of the work force by being involved in the family business. Although Mary respected her mother's choices, she wanted and longed for tradition, to have a family. He remembers from the few meals he shared with the Campbell's that Deanna had been a good cook. Admittedly, however, she had gone for convenience over any other criteria in her cooking, and the few baked goods Deanna didn't buy from the store had been in a box only three easy steps before.
It wasn't until after they were married that John discovered Deanna never taught Mary to cook, and though Mary wanted to have a traditional home, up until then she had never applied herself to learn. Mary had wanted things to be different for Dean and Sammy, had wanted to be the more at home wife and mother. As often as Mary cooked, to say Mary's culinary skills were lacking was an understatement, and her baking - even less.
Although John would have to admit that over time Mary's skills improved enough to where he could actually make out what the initial dish was. They had even compromised and created a rule, if he couldn't recognize what it was; he didn't have to taste it. What John couldn't identify outweighed the foods that were deceptively familiar, but those he was required to eat regardless of odor, charred bits, or missing ingredients.
He remembers the first time Dean had officially helped Mary in the kitchen. He had come home early to find the front door wide and the windows open. With a little bit of fear in his heart, he had followed the burnt smell back to the kitchen. John's eyes had roamed over the disaster he found there - dishes littered everywhere, flour seemed to be generously dusted over the floor and every appliance, including, somehow, the top of the refrigerator. Not to mention the fact that it was comically caked over his son's head. Dean's normally dark blue overalls were painted with flour-white clouds and food splatter. He stood by the back door, small hand gripping the knob while the other clutched the doorjamb, and awkwardly waved the door back and forth, open and closed, in what had been an ineffective attempt to fan out the room.
Meanwhile, Mary was at the oven, her back toward John, oblivious to his presence. From there, John's eyes had followed the billow of smoke to the sink, where he'd seen what was left of two cakes. One pan had water running over its charred top, but the other was still smoking. John stepped forward to douse the source of the continued smoke, and that's when Mary had finally noticed his presence and turned towards him even before he yelped after brushing the smoldering wreckage under the tap. He was bringing his burned fingertips up to stick in his mouth in a reflexive gesture when he turned to face Mary. Her face was streaked with tears that made little channels in the flour that covered her face and was liberally dusted throughout her hair.
John hadn't meant to laugh, but then his mouth twitched and sound bubbled to the surface until the laughter burst out of him like a gusher.
In retaliation Mary hit him on the arm, hard, and he'd deserved it, but after that, she stopped crying. Her mouth spread out into a grin as she hit him again, softer and playful this time, and cursed under her breath that it wasn't funny. By then Dean had run over to them. Amused, John bent down to scoop Dean into his arms and, in the process, plastered flour over his own front.
Mary's mouth had gaped open like she was seeing Dean for the first time - dusted in white and pudding, or maybe that was egg yolk - and she couldn't sustain her faux-stern composure any longer as she joined John and broke down laughing.
John pulls away from the memory and lets it fade to the sound of Dean's laughter filling the room here in the present. John's heart does a double take even as the tension in his shoulders eases. John realizes now how much he's feared that he'd never hear that sound again. He catches Missouri staring at him, her lips lifting into a knowing smile and her eyes softening with that same understanding that had been there when she'd greeted them at the door.
John's about to say something, but Sammy's excited squeal diverts his attention. Warmth, laughter and giggles fill the room, and, for a brief moment, the memories hurt a little less.
Taking control of the situation, as easily and assertively as she had started, Missouri declares they're done. The table is littered with sprinkles, leaking tubes of gel frosting in various colors, a small tub of vanilla frosting sitting tilted, empty, and threatening to topple off the table, but all of Dean's artistic endeavors are either in a pile on a plate or drying on the rack. She tells Dean to go clean up and wash his hands and then orders John to do the same with Sammy as she passes John a warm wash cloth. Once he has Sammy clean, John pulls him free from the highchair and takes him into the living room to change him. All the while, Missouri keeps busy cleaning and clearing the table. By the time John's done and coming back to the kitchen, soiled diaper in hand to toss casually in the trash basket, Missouri has the chaos of the kitchen whipped back into order. Replacing a wriggling, burbling Sammy in the highchair, John can't help but return to his early thought that she'd wipe the floor with his old drill sergeant.
Missouri responds with a huff as if he had said it out loud, then she follows the huff with an eye roll as she dismisses the thought and holds out a chair for Dean, who isn't in the room right now. Just as John completes the thought, Dean bounds into the room. John blinks and tries to shake away the sudden creepiness of the whole situation.
Missouri's eyes narrow and she snaps at John. "Don't!"
Stopping mid-skip, Dean's smile falls as he glances between them like they're ticking bombs. Sitting down and the table Dean keeps his eyes on his lap while he asks if she's angry with his daddy. Missouri's eyes go wide, and she wastes no time in pulling another chair over, and sitting down next to Dean. Her voice starts gentle as she tells him, "No." She leans into Dean, and her tone turns playful while she whispers loudly enough that John has to bite his lips to keep from smirking as he listens. The teasing softness in her eyes remains to the end, belying the sternness of her closing remarks. "Your daddy just needs a little sass to keep him in line." She pauses to shoot a glance in John's direction, after which her tone matches her eyes. "And sometimes it helps him from getting too sad."
Dean's head dips in agreement as if he understands, his previous distress wiped away.
Firmly she declares, "You're so much like your daddy, aren't you? Full of sass and spitfire?"
Again his son nods as he takes in Missouri's words, and Dean's face is beaming with pride.
Missouri stands up with an overly dramatic sigh and eye-roll. She walks over to the counter and pulls open a drawer to grab some supplies, as she mutters loudly, "Lord, help me survive Winchester men."
Dean giggles at that. "You mind your manners, Dean. The good Lord is going to be getting more than one prayer with your name on it." She puts down a pad of construction paper and a box of crayons in front of Dean. "Now, you think you can entertain your brother for a little while, while I talk to your daddy privately? We'll only be a short bit, right in the living room?"
To John's surprise, Dean doesn't protest, absently signaling his consent. He's already preoccupied with opening the box of crayons and spilling them out, with trying to show Sammy how to hold the pink one.
Missouri's hand presses hard on John's back, both guiding and encouraging him into the living room and over to the couch.
John feels itchy and jerky when he sits down, abruptly remembering why he came here in the first place. Remembers that Missouri isn't an old family friend he's known forever – though it feels like it - she's someone who might have information about why Mary died. Sitting beside him, Missouri reaches out and rubs her hand over John's back in soothing circles, and John is happy to accept the comfort of it.
They sit there for what feels like a long time, the silence stretching between them comfortable rather than strained. Missouri just sits there patiently, waiting for him to calm down. All the while, the memories roll through his mind, before and after the fire: from their fights before he left, to when he returned, to the drops of blood when he stood at Sammy's crib, to seeing Mary on the ceiling with flames engulfing her body. His body trembles at the recollection of each flash point.
John isn't totally sure if Missouri can actually see the images rolling through his mind, or just empathically feel his pain; either way she doesn't move an inch, even when he feels her body shudder next to his. As he sits there, he realizes the truth: he trusts her, and has since maybe a few minutes after they walked in the door. John can feel it in his gut: she's a true psychic, gifted, and possibly more importantly, she's a true friend.
As if he's said it all out loud, Missouri clasps his and gives it a reassuring squeeze when she tells him, "John what you saw… there is no right to that." She pauses, looking him straight in the eyes. " I… I'll need to go to the house. There I can see, try to pick up its essence."
John blinks, unsure he's heard her correctly, and then he's just staring, dumbfounded. "No, John, you're not crazy. What you saw, your Mary on the ceiling cut open like that? It was real, John. I have never encountered the like of it before, but I can tell you, it was real."
Whatever flickers of doubt John's had about either Missouri or what happened that night, she's just killed them. John has never said anything about what he saw, not to anyone. Not only does she know, but she believes him. Her hand on his back starts rubbing in circles again when tears roll down his face, his body shaking with unrepentant relief.
"Friday, you pick me up right here, and we'll go to the house. You'll have to leave the boys, but they'll be fine." Overwhelmed, his throat too closed to utter a sound, John can only bob his head up and down.
Just as John is once again breathing evenly, they can hear Sammy starting to get fussy. Missouri pats his back one last time then stands and tells him to go splash water on his face while she sees to the boys.
When John comes back into the kitchen from the bathroom, Sammy is in the rocker happily sucking on another bottle. Sitting beside Sammy is a large shopping bag that Missouri has packed full of plates piled high with the fruits of this afternoon's activities.
At the door, she squats down, hugging Dean good-bye. "You're gonna grow up like your daddy aren't you?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "You're proud and stubborn folk, you Winchester men." She grins at the pride Dean is displaying. "That's fine, but you take care of your daddy and Sammy. Next time we meet…"
Dean tentatively finishes the line she draws out, "Sass and spitfire?"
She nods and taps the end of his nose. "That's right, you got it: lots of sass and spitfire." Dean grins back at her then glances to Sammy, his face turning serious as he states, "Not Sammy though. He's just a baby, he'd get upset."
John watches Missouri's face turn just as serious while she promises, "Not Sammy, I promise. Though I might have to sass you extra, like your daddy…"
Accepting her answer, Dean's lips stretch wide displaying his teeth.
John shares one last look with her, knowing he'll be back right after Thanksgiving, then turns away. He lets Missouri usher them out the door and feels a strange hope growing in his chest even as he hears her closing the door behind them.
