Dean peels out of the parking lot like Hell is after them. They tear across Oklahoma and Kansas; Sam spends most of the time praying they don't get pulled over because he can't promise Dean will stop or the cop will come away unscathed.
Sam figures either their luck has drastically improved or his prayers are working in mysterious ways because they blaze past not one but two state troopers without getting pulled, and probably more unmarked cars than he'd like to think about. They make the nine-and-a-half hour trip in just under six. Whit runs out of the house as soon as they pull up.
"She okay?" Dean asks, barreling past Whit.
"Hasn't changed." She looks horrible, with dark circles under her eyes and wild hair.
Mer looks like she's napping, her hair spread across her pillow like Sleeping Beauty. Dean presses two fingers against her pulse point and lays his head on her chest. He closes his eyes and...there she is. Distant, like when she's exhausted and deeply asleep, but he can feel her in the back of his head.
Sam steps forward and brushes his fingers against her temples. He feels a spark of recognition and a gentle surge of awareness before her consciousness recedes again. He lets out a sigh of relief, echoed by Dean.
"She's fine," Sam whispers to Whit, hovering anxiously behind them.
"You're sure?"
"Yeah," Dean answers, pulling himself away from Mer. He looks wrecked, eyes sunken into his head and swaying on his feet. Sam hooks his arm around Dean's waist before he stumbles or falls. Whit casts one last glance at Mer's still form, unconvinced, but lets them shuffle her out of the room. Dean's harder to convince, stopping at the entrance and just staring at his daughter. He can't help one last ping, which Mer answers with the irritation of someone trying to get some rest.
After that, Dean stays pliant and biddable for Sam. Even if Sam wasn't so completely in tune with Dean's emotions he'd be able to tell his brother has hit a wall, sprinted to the edge of the cliff and skidded to a precarious stop. Sam strips Dean down to his boxers and tucks him into bed before taking care of himself.
He takes a minute to wash his face, brush his teeth and gather his thoughts. He climbs into bed with Dean before he can talk himself out of it. Dean lays stiff on his side, not even bothering to fake sleep. Sam sighs, wraps one long arm around Dean, and tugs. Dean slides into his arms, tense and unyielding.
"She's okay," Sam whispers. "She's safe and okay."
At first that gets him nothing, and Sam wonders if he seriously misjudged the situation. But then Dean starts trembling, small movements that build into bigger ones, until Dean's breath is shaking as much as his body. Sam holds his brother while he breaks apart, lets the terror he's been keeping locked inside finally free.
Sam wraps himself as tightly around Dean as possible, anchors his brother as best he can. Dean sucks in huge, sobbing breaths of air, vulnerable because a helpless little kid owns his soul and his heart and he can't protect her all the time. Especially when her mind goes walk-about in the world. Sam presses a kiss to the back of Dean's neck, light enough that he can pretend it didn't happen.
Dean's entire body pauses, like he's waiting for something to push him to action. Sam holds his breath, prays he didn't just fuck everything up. But all Dean does is let out a shuddering breath and go limp in Sam's arms, too drained to do anything but let sleep drag him down into blessed darkness.
****
They stick close to home for a long time after that. Dean has developed anxiety issues, getting nervous and fidgety when Mer's away for too long. Sam's had to fight with Dean to let Mer go to the weekly park get-together where he finally meets the elusive Finn, who is rather awesome. Not quite as awesome as Mer, but he can see why they're friends. Sam likes to think of himself as the voice of reason, post-Oasis Plains debacle.
The truth is, Sam's just as obsessive as Dean. He's just sneakier about it. He pings her almost constantly. Mer has always understood their need to check up on her; Sam is pretty sure Dean trained it into her when she was born, and she's always been warm and reassuring when either of them brushed against her. So when Mer snaps back a mental "I'm fine," sharp and grating, Sam backs off. Just a little bit.
And Sam moves into Dean's room. Officially. After the first night, Dean had engaged Sam in a hot debate over something or other right before bed. Sam had been so wrapped up in telling him off that he hadn't even registered Dean shutting the door behind them and climbing into bed. The light snapping off and throwing the room into darkness had been his first clue. He paused, mid-rant, and stared at Dean, a dark lump under the comforter. Sam had weighed everything he knew about Dean and finally slid into the bed, keeping his distance. Dean had grunted once, rolled over, and fallen asleep.
His stuff, once tucked into one corner of the den, migrates into Dean's room within three days. Actually, on the third day, Whit dumps his duffle on the threshold of the room with a glare. Dean helps Sam make room for his clothes without a word.
It's kind of weird, but they settle into a holding pattern, and Sam occasionally wakes up with Dean wrapped around him like an octopus, which pulls Sam in all kinds of directions. But it satisfies his increasing need to be close to Dean, a hot itch that burrows under his skin and takes up residence, so Sam doesn't complain.
Dean walks around like everything is hunky dory. Sam hates him.
They fall into a routine that opens Sam wide for Dean's mockery because Sam is, essentially, a stay at home mom. Whit and Dean collectively bring home the bacon and Sam does all the shopping, cleaning, picking up and dropping off of Mer, and cooking. It's kind of nice. He has plenty of time to read, too, so he brushes up on his ancient Sumerian mythology and esoteric pre-bronze age symbols.
He ends up with pages and pages of notes and scribblings. One day, Dean comes in from the auto shop and thrusts a plastic-wrapped package at Sam's chest. He looks everywhere but at Sam, a faint blush staining his cheeks. Sam carefully pulls out a large leather-bound journal. It's sturdy and functional with a leather thong to mark the page.
Dean watches Sam out of the corner of his eye, trying to gauge Sam's reaction but getting nothing.
Sam very carefully lays the journal on the coffee table, then tackles Dean off the chair and wraps him up in a full-body hug.
"Sam what the—get off me!" Dean bucks, but Sam just laughs holds on tight like he used to do as a kid, when Dean declared himself 'too manly' to do hugs. It turns into an all-out tussle, Dean trying to get away and Sam keeping him pinned tightly.
They haven't sparred like this in ages, and they topple furniture as they wrestle around the room. Dean elbows Sam in the face and gains the upper hand, catching Sam up in a headlock. Sam gets Dean off him by pulling on his shirt until one of the seams gives.
"Dude, not cool!" Dean yelps, twisting to see if his shirt has ripped. Sam laughs and wrestles Dean to the ground. Dean almost squirms away, but Sam gets his legs up around Dean's hips and twists his arms behind his back. Dean falls on Sam's chest with a grunt.
"Gotcha!" Sammy sing-songs. Dean lifts his head and looks down at Sam. Sam's breath catches in his throat.
"Yeah," Dean says. Sam's eyes zero in on Dean's lips, Mer and want and rightwrongDeanmine crash into one another. Dean's eyes darken and he jerks down just a little. Sam raises his head, gaze fluttering between Dean's eyes and his lips.
"Bo-oys!" Dean jerks to his feet faster than Sam can blink. Fuck. He lets his head thump against the floor before pushing himself up and trailing after Dean towards the entrance, willing his cock down. He's so lost in his thoughts he runs into Dean, who has stopped in the doorway.
Whit's kneeling beside Mer, face twisted into comic incomprehension as Mer earnestly whispers what could be the secrets of the universe to her, all the while trying to pull Whit out the door. Sam and Dean watch them for a little while, neither one of them able to figure out what, exactly, is going on.
"Um. Hello?" Dean ventures, and both girls start. Whit looks at them with speculative curiosity. Mer stares at both of them, stomps her little foot in annoyance, and stalks off with a scowl on her face.
"What was that about?" Sam asks.
"Nothing," Whit mutters, still looking befuddled. "Apparently."
----
Later that night, when Sam and Dean are trolling the internet and arguing about their next case, Whit tracks Mer down to try and wrap her head around what she heard.
"Hey, Miss Ma'am," Whit says with a short knock. Mer looks up from her sketch pad and gives Whit one of those piercing looks that raises goosebumps on Whit's skin and makes her think Mer's tapped in to something way bigger than any of them guess.
"They belong," Mer tells her, going back to her coloring. She literally colors: swirls of bright and dark hues that almost make a picture but never quite do; like maybe if you had the right filter, or glanced at it sideways just so, it would make a whole lot of profound sense.
"How do they belong?" Whit asks, sliding down the wall. She picks up her own piece of paper and starts sketching.
"Mmmmmm," Mer hums, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth. "They're pretty together."
"Pretty?"
"Glowy. They should be together, like Lissa and Jer."
"Lissa? The three-year-old from down the street?"
"Yep."
"And Jer..."
"Oh, he's seven and knows everything."
"Everything, huh?" Whit asks with a smile.
"Yep. And he fits. With Lissa, like Legos." Whit blinks. She'd been thinking puzzle or some such would be the metaphor of choice. Mer can do a puzzle like no other, brow furrowed in concentration as she carefully selects each piece and puts it where it goes—regardless of whether or not she's filled in the other pieces around it. It's freaky to watch her assemble a 5,000 piece puzzle that way, with no real starting point or referencing the box.
"Okay, I'll bite. How are they like Legos?"
"They fit," Mer explains patiently. "They snap together 'n make something newer and cooler—like the Millennium Falcon!" Whit had bought that stupid Star Wars Lego kit last Christmas and Mer had fallen in love, made them buy all the DVDs, sneered at the 'prequels' and declared Han Solo 'dreamy,' much to her father's horror. So Jer and Lissa are getting high honors here.
"So together, they're the Millennium Falcon. What are they apart?"
Mer sighs, heavy and sad. "Definitely TIE fighters."
****
Sam's nightmares take a turn one day. Instead of Jess and the fire, he's dreaming of a woman trapped in a house, beating at a window, long shadows cast over the side of a house. He wakes Dean up almost every night, to the point where he's thinking about moving back to the couch to give him a break. Sam starts sketching the weirdly familiar shadow on anything he can get his hands on. He can't figure out where he's seen it or what it is. Until Mer walks up and asks, "Why do you keep drawing trees?"
That's all Sam needs. He's off, rifling through the pictures tucked in Dad's journal—he's gone through it a hundred times since they got it—till he finds the one he's looking for. It's the tree he keeps drawing, the one that pops up in his dreams these days. One with him and Dean and Mom. Where they're outside of their house in Lawrence.
Fuck.
He has no idea how he'll convince Dean to go there, but he knows, deep down inside, that they don't have a choice. There's something there that they need to do, something they can't avoid. Unfortunately, Dean's not buying the 'just trust me' line. So apparently, it's Sam's turn to 'fess up to his freakatude.
"I've had these nightmares."
"I've noticed," Dean says dryly. Nothing like a good punch to the chest to wake up in the morning.
"They're just...sometimes they come true." Dean stares at him, waiting for more.
"People have weird dreams, man. I'm sure it was just a coincidence," Dean assured him. Sam can tell Dean doesn't believe his own words.
"No," Sam denies. He has to get this out, see this through. "I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn't do anything about it because I didn't believe it and now I'm dreaming about that tree and a woman screaming trapped inside and—"
"Alright."
"...what?"
"Alright. We'll go." Sam's a little affronted because he expected it to be harder than that. Dean should be freaked out, sarcastic, fight him on this. Seeing him calm and agreeable? It's freaking Sam the hell out. Especially since this is Lawrence. Home. A place Dean doesn't like to think about, much less drop by for a visit.
"Dean..."
"Mer has dreams too," Dean interrupts, and leaves to pack his bag. There's not much Sam can say to that.
****
Usually when they go to leave, Mer gives them each a long, solemn hug and watches as the Impala's lights disappear down the street.
This time, she's sitting in front of the car with two of her own bags packed to the brim and a mutinous expression on her face.
"Uh oh," Dean mutters under his breath.
"What do we do?" Sam asks.
"I have no idea," Dean growls. He puts his weapons and duffle in the trunk and then goes to Mer, crouching down beside her.
"Hey, Mer-Bear, I—"
"No." It's petulant and whiney and harder than diamonds. Mer's eyes glitter angrily.
"Mer," Dean starts again.
"NO."
"Mary!"
"You can't leave without me!" Mer screams, face turning red and tears welling in her eyes. Dean cringes and Sam shifts uncomfortably, wanting nothing more than to run and hide. She stands up and puts her hands on her hips. "You can't you can't youcan't youcantyoucant!" She stomps her foot, her entire body shaking with her ire.
"Jesus, MER! CALM DOWN!" Dean picks Mer up, her limbs flailing every which way, only to double over with a loud grunt when Mer's foot hits him square in the nuts. There are now two Winchesters on the ground, Mer continuing her tantrum while Dean cradles his very tender family jewels.
Sam glances between the two of them, trying to decide whether to tackle Mer or Dean first. When Mer curls in tight and then lets her hands and legs burst out in a violent fit of pique, he decides Dean is the safest route and goes to help him up.
"Should never 've had kids," Dean moans. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but Sam pretends not to notice. There are a lot of reactions that can be forgiven due to a punch in the nuts.
"Wasn't aware you did it on purpose," Sam says with a grin. He helps Dean up, rubbing his back and coaching him to breathe. By the time Dean feels like he can get up without being nauseated, Mer's tantrum has subsided into sniffling hiccups. Her face is blotchy and she has tear tracks all over her face and her nose is running.
"Alright, Mer," Dean says, his voice deep with pain but patient. "Let's talk about what just happened."
Mer wails, "You can't—"
"Mer!" Dean's voice is a dangerous whip-crack, sharp and uncompromising. Mer's eyes widen and she (wisely) shuts up. "Why do you want to come?" Mer shifts and glances away. She only looks like that when she's guilty. Dean doesn't flinch, just stares at her until she ducks her head.
"I hadda dream," Mer sniffs, staring down at the ground. Her voice is a little hoarse from all the screaming, and Sam realizes this is the youngest she's ever seemed to him. Sam and Dean share a troubled glance
"Okay. About what?" Dean asks. Mer mutters something that neither of them catch. "What was that?"
"I can't tell you." Mer sounds miserable, and she looks it too. Sam doesn't think she's just saying it to be ornery.
"Mer. That's not acceptable. I don't—" Dean starts, but Mer interrupts him.
"I need to go," she says plaintively, jaw set stubbornly. It looks like she's about to go for tantrum round two, and Dean holds up his hands.
"If you throw another fit you don't get to come," Dean declares. Mer pouts and glares at her father, then turns pleading eyes to Sam. Oh no. He's not getting involved in this one. "Mer!" Dean warns.
"I had a dream, if I don't come, bad things happen," Mer bites out, sulking. As if asking her to explain herself is the most annoying this on the planet. Sam can tell Dean's trying to hide a smirk. Dean makes Mer wait for his answer because he doesn't want her to get used to walking all over him—not that she doesn't have him wrapped around her little finger.
"Mer. If you need or want something, you talk to me about it first. Explain it without the foot stomping . Save the bitching for uncassam. Otherwise you don't get whatever you want. Okay?" Mer's eyes are shiny, but she nods, chin wobbling, and doesn't let the tears fall. She raises her chin, trying to look brave and Dean freaking loves his kid. And honestly, Mer had him at 'dreams.' "You can come. We'll take you to see Missouri." Mer brightens, her smile wide and happy, and she hugs both their legs in jubilation before running into the house to get Mer Bear. Sam goes to get the car seat out of the garage, Dean following to get more weapons.
"My kid is not going to turn into one of those cryptic know-it-alls," Dean growls at him, and Sam doesn't bother to hold back his laugh.