Thanks again for sticking with the story and for all the really awesome comments. Hugs, Ember

Chapter Twenty-One

Exhausted even though he had pulled off into a truck stop to catch a couple hours sleep, Drake pushed himself to keep going and reached Lawrence around eleven in the morning. With a heavy yawn, his eyelids flitted closed as he paused at a stop sign, but at the sound of a car horn blaring behind him, they fluttered open and he saw a gray two story home with black shutters and a red brick chimney. Waving for the car to go around him, he slowly drove past the home with the eerie half-dead tree in the front yard, and then after passing the house, he did a quick u-turn and went back, and parked alongside the curb.

He leaned forward and with elbows resting on the steering wheel, he glanced up at the corner bedroom, and shivered as a cold chill worked its way down his spine. His eyelids fluttered closed again and as they did he saw the fiery image of a blond haired woman.

I remember the fire . . . the heat . . . an' then I carried you out the front door. He heard himself saying over and over again inside his head, and as he glanced at the upstairs window once more, he imagined a fiery explosion blowing out the windows. Scratching at the back of his head, he tried to recall if he had ever saved anyone from a fire in a home that looked like the one he was staring at now, and came up with a few possibilities even though his gut told him that the memory he was reliving was from this house.

"I'm completely losing it," he muttered under his breath as he shifted the car back into drive, and sped away before anymore unwanted images filled and messed with his mind.

As he drove the rest of the way to Missouri's place, he considered all the reasons why he might be drawn to a home in a state he'd never been to before, but couldn't come up with any answers. Yet, he did discover one thing with brilliant startling clarity – he hated Kansas to the very core of his being, and the thought of staying for any length of time left him wanting to throw up. His stomach churned as he watched little kids playing outside their homes, and he cringed at the sight of mothers strolling along the sidewalks with baby carriages. It was all so innocent, and not unlike the things he saw everyday in Naples, but here it felt so wrong and he couldn't fathom why.

With a tired sigh, he focused his attention on the road, and turned up the radio in an attempt to block out all the thoughts swirling around inside his brain. His hands trembled as he gripped a tighter hold of the wheel, and not for the first time he wished he hadn't used the rest of his cocaine to keep himself awake and alert for the long trip cross country.

A deep frown furrowed Drake's brow as he pulled up to the address Missouri had given him and noted the sign in the small front yard. "Oh, for the love of God, I drove all this way to see a damn psychic?" he growled in frustration as he raked his fingers through his hair.

Disappointment and anger momentarily overshadowing his need for a fix, he slid out of the car and slammed the door shut. "I should've known better than to think Sam would find the answers from a normal person," he muttered under his breath with a shake of his head as he trudged up the steps to her door.

He lifted a hand to knock on the door, but before he could even curl his hand into a fist, it opened and a heavy, dark-skinned woman with compassionate brown eyes stood appraising him. "Yer the boy who called me yesterday, aren't ya?"

With a roll of his eyes and a curt nod, Drake plastered a smile on his face. "I'm Drake – but seeing that you're psychic an' all, you probably already knew that right?"

"No," she smiled politely undeterred by the sarcasm in his tone, "I had no clue what yer name was but I do know you're a firefighter and ya stole that car out there," she gestured to the Impala, "from a boy name Sam Winchester."

Drake's gaze ticked to the lower portion of the tattoo on his bicep peeking out from beneath his t-shirt, and then looked back to her. "If that's the best psychic mojo you've got," he hitched a thumb over his shoulder toward the Impala, "I think I'll call psychic network on my way back home. An' maybe if I'm real lucky I'll get to talk to some chick named Moonbeam who'll tell me I'm going to win the lottery next Tuesday."

"Or maybe you could just drive back by that house ya saw that's weighin' so heavily on yer mind," she responded, folding her arms over her chest as Drake's jaw dropped wide open.

"H-How did you . . . you couldn't've . . . ." Drake's voice trailed off as he stared wide-eyed at her.

"Close your trap before ya swallow a whole heapin' mouthful of flies." Taking a hold of his arm, she guided him inside, shut the door, and showed him into the living room. She motioned for him to take a seat on the couch, and without a word he complied. "Boy, you put your feet up on my table and I'll whack you with a spoon."

"I didn't do anything," Drake uttered, splaying out his arms.

"But you were thinking about it," she said, and then narrowed her eyes on him. "Ya know for some damn reason that felt real familiar, but for the life of me I can't figure out why."

Dragging a hand across his face, Drake heaved a weary sigh. "Well, you're the psychic here, so don't look to me for the answers."

With a shake of her head, Missouri took a seat in an armchair and folded her hands on her lap. For several long moments she studied Drake, and then pursing her lips, she uttered, "I'm just not getting a clear read on you, Drake, an' that's never happened to me before."

"Maybe that's because I'm complicated." With a roll of his eyes, Drake smirked, still finding it hard to believe he was actually listening to a psychic.

"Hmmm . . . ." Leaning forward in her chair, she looked him dead in the eye, and his stomach flip-flopped as he squirmed uncomfortably in his seat at such close scrutiny. "No, you're more like puzzle pieces all spread across the table, but no matter how hard I try I can't put them together to form one true picture. The pieces don't fit an' it almost seems like someone threw two completely different puzzles together."

Averting his gaze, he pretended to study the pattern in her worn Persian rug. "I didn't come here to find out about myself."

"No, you came to find out the truth," she uttered with a breathy sigh as she took to her feet once more, "but right now I'm more interested in this house you can't seem to shake from your mind. So let's go."

"It was just a stupid house," Drake said, watching her as she made her way to the front door. "I don't wanna go back there."

"Boy, I said we're going to see that house, so get your butt up off my couch, an' get movin'."

"You didn't happen to work in a mental institution at some point, did you?" Drake grumbled as he reluctantly pushed himself up from the couch, and fell in line behind her as she headed outside to Sam's car. "'Cause you so remind me of this one nurse that was always barking out orders . . . an' I don't mind saying she scared me a little – so maybe you're related or something."

With a stern look and a huff, Missouri climbed inside the Impala and waited for Drake to follow suit. Once he was situated in his seat, and they were driving toward the house, she shifted to look him over. With a shake of her head, she clucked her tongue several times. "Boy, you don't make any sense to me at all – it's almost like you weren't meant to be here, but yet you are."

"Well, I don't really like traveling, so if we could've done this –"

"I don't mean you coming to Kansas," she cut him off with a huff, "your mother – she wasn't supposed to have any more kids after your brother."

With a heavy sigh, Drake cast a glance in the older woman's direction before returning his sights to the road. "My mom had a real tough time giving birth to my brother, an' the doctors told her she would never be able to have any more kids . . . I was born seven years later, if that's what you mean."

Missouri tentatively held out a hand and placed it on his arm then with a sudden sharp breath she yanked it away. "Your soul – it's been touched by both a truly powerful good and an equally powerful evil . . . it's no wonder you're searching for the truth."

"And what is the truth?" Drake asked as he pressed on the brake, slowing the vehicle to make a right hand turn, and then pulled up alongside the curb to show Missouri the house that had rattled him.

Missouri remained silent as she ducked her head to the side to look around Drake at the seemingly harmless two-story home. "The Winchester home?" she breathed, eyes widening as she glanced back at Drake.

"This was Sam's house?" Drake swallowed hard, fear creeping up inside of him, and he shivered as a sudden chill once again raced down his spine. I remember the fire . . . the heat . . . an' then I carried you out the front door. "W-Was there a fire here?" he asked as he pointed toward the upstairs bedroom, "In that room?" Holding his breath, he looked back at her, and waited until he saw her nod. "How do I know that?"

"I dunno." She shrugged, and for a psychic she seemed at a complete loss for the answers he was searching for. "Let's go find out."

"Huh?" Eyes growing as large as saucers, he shook his head. "I wasn't . . . I don't wanna – people live there, we can't just barge in there."

"Sure we can." She gave him a shove when he failed to open his car door, and reluctantly he complied with her order. "I know the Coopers. They had a problem a few years ago back, and Sam came back here to help them out with it."

"What kind of problem?" Halfway through the yard, Drake paused and glanced up at the window, once again envisioning a fiery explosion blowing out the glass. Fingers tingling, he glanced down at them, and then looked back up at the corner of the home.

"A poltergeist," she responded matter-of-factly as if Drake wouldn't think she was completely out of her mind, "and there was another presence as well."

"Well, of course there was." Drake rolled his eyes as he made his way up to the doorway. "Was it a Wendigo by any chance?"

"No, don't be stupid, boy," swatting him on the arm, she went on to say, "it turned out to be his mother. She sacrificed herself for him."

"And where was Dean when all of this happened?"

"Dean?" she narrowed brown eyes on him, and with pursed lips, shook her head. "I don't know who you're talking about."

"Sam's brother Dean," Drake snapped in irritation as he pressed his eyelids closed and rubbed at his temples. "The brother everyone but Sam seems to have forgotten about."

"Hmmm . . . ." Missouri lightly grasped hold of his hand again. "What else did Sam tell you about his brother?"

"Just that he saved a lot of peoples' lives an' that he was gone an' was never coming back."

"And that makes you really angry with him, doesn't it?"

"Yeah – I mean no." With a groan, he shrugged free of her grasp and knocked on the door. "Why should I care if he wants to find his brother or not?"

Missouri opened her mouth to respond, but snapped it shut as the door opened. A pretty, blond-haired woman stood at the threshold, and Drake couldn't help but notice the tentative smile she cast in the psychic's direction. "Missouri, what are you doing here?" She looked back over her shoulder toward the inside of her house. "Is there something wrong – it's not back is it?"

"No, Jenny, your house is still quiet," Missouri quickly assured, patting the woman on the arm, and then bobbed her head toward Drake, "This is Drake – he feels some sort of connection to this place, an' we're trying to figure out why."

"A connection to my house?" Jenny uttered as she stepped out onto the landing and shifted to look at Drake. "Did you live here at one time?"

"No. I'm not from around here." Uncomfortable at the thought of barging into Jenny's home, Drake shuffled his feet as he looked around her and peered inside the front door. "I didn't wanna come here, but it was her idea," he jerked a thumb in the psychic's direction.

"Boy, you need to stop flappin' your jaws and go inside." Without giving him a chance to argue further, she pushed him forward. "I'm just going to talk to Jenny for a few minutes, so take a look around to get a feel for the place."

Drake swallowed hard as the door closed behind him trapping him inside Sam's old home. His footsteps sounded loud against the hard wood floors, and he fought the urge to slide them along the smooth surface to stifle the noise. He worked his way toward the kitchen, and cursed when he found more hardwood flooring in there.

In the center of the room, he pivoted around on his heel, and as he already knew would be the case, nothing looked even remotely familiar. This is such a waste of time. He turned to leave the room and stopped abruptly when a cold chilled raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

"I made you a sandwich," came a softly whispered against his ear, and heart in his throat he swung back around.

His eyes darted back and forth, searching for the person who had spoken but the room was empty. "I am completely losing it."

With a shake of his head, he trudged from the kitchen, and headed toward the stairs. From above he could hear music playing, and talked himself into believing the voice he'd in the kitchen came from the radio. When he came to the last step, he paused at the upstairs landing and flipped on the light switch.

The music was coming from the room where he'd envisioned the fire, and steeling his nerves, he proceeded toward it, glancing in the other rooms as he walked past them. A little boy who couldn't have been more than seven years old was sitting on the floor in the bedroom playing with truck and cars. He watched the boy for a few moments, and then biting pensively at his lower lip, he glanced up at the whitewashed ceiling. Abruptly before his eyes, it burst into flames, the heat searing at his face as he buried his head in his arms.

"What are ya doin'?" the little dark-haired boy asked, and pulling his hands away from his face, Drake looked up again and the fire was gone.

"I-I was . . . ." his voice trailed. Looking from the grinning boy to the ceiling and back again, he scratched at the back of his head. "Did you just see that?" he pointed toward the white crisscrossing beams in the ceiling.

The boy's head dropped backward onto his shoulders, and he looked at the ceiling before shaking his head. "Nope." He smiled at Drake. "Wanna play firefighters with me?" he asked holding up two toy fire engines.

"Umm . . . sure." Keeping his sights locked on the little dark-haired boy, he walked across the room, took a seat on the floor, and picked up one of the fire trucks. "Back where I live, I'm a firefighter," he said, racing the truck along the floor toward a row of toy houses the boy had set up, "It's the coolest job in the whole world."

"No, yer not a firefighter." He adamantly shook his head. "Yer the one who kills the bad things. Makes 'em go away so's we can stay."

"Huh?" Drake furrowed his brow in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

The boy opened his mouth to say more but snapped it shut as a girl's voice came from behind Drake. "Richie, how many times . . . ." her voice suddenly trailed off as Drake shifted in his seat and saw a young brown-haired girl who looked to be about twelve or thirteen leaning against the doorframe. Her eyes grew large as she looked from Drake to the closet door and back again. "They're not back, are they?"

Drake followed her gaze back to the closed closet door. "Who's not back?" he uttered, and then remembering what Missouri said about the poltergeist, he shook his head. "No, they aren't back."

Her eyes narrowed on him for several long moments before she finally nodded and let out a sigh of relief. "You look different than the last time," she cocked her head to the side to study him as she made a circular gesture with her hand around his face, "your hair is longer now than it was before – it makes you look a lot younger."

Drake looked back and forth between Richie and girl, and noticed the little boy nodding enthusiastically in agreement with his sister. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Her brows knitted together as she studied Drake once more. "You're Dean, right?" She looked to her brother who was still bobbing his head while smiling toothily at Drake. "You an' your brother saved us from the thing that was in our house."

"I-I'm Dra – " Hearing Sam's voice inside his head, Drake's voice abruptly trailed off.

I did find him. He had said when they were in the hospital together while he looked Drake squarely in the eyes. I looked him right dead in the eyes and there was nothing.

Stomach heaving violently, cold sweat prickled at the nape of Drake's neck as Missouri's voice rang in his ears. No, you're more like puzzle pieces all spread across the table, but no matter how hard I try I can't put them together to form one true picture. The pieces don't fit an' it almost seems like someone threw two completely different puzzles together.

"No, I'm Drake," he breathed, shaking his head in disbelief.

No, only my brother gets to call me Sammy – an' even if I ever did allow someone else to call me that, it would never be you.

And why's that, Sammy?

Because I can't stomach the sight of you.

Drake's legs trembled as he braced his hands against the floor and pushed himself to his feet.

What the hell are you doing, Drake? Drake recalled the older version of himself that he had believed at the time to be a hallucination. Sammy needs you, an' you were so damn close . . . then you just gave in."

Wh-who are you?

I guess I'm you . . . or sort of anyways – not really sure how this all works, so I can't really say for certain – I'll have to ask Cas about it.

I'm hallucinating, aren't I? I am, and now I'm asking myself who's sitting beside me if I'm hallucinating . . . damn, I'm so screwed.

I need you to take care of Sammy for me, an' you can't do that if you're always stoned off your ass.

Am I ever going to find out what happened to Dean?

Deep down, you already know what happened to him. It'll come to you in time . . . or maybe Sammy will tell you if he ever gets his head out of his ass, and comes clean with everything.

Why can't you just tell me?

I wish to hell I could, but I can't. God, I always loved this car, so you'd better make damn sure Sammy takes care of her.

"Oh, God . . . no, I-I can't be . . . ." swallowing back the bile rising in his throat, Drake clutched tightly to Dean's amulet.

I want you to take good care of this, it meant so much to me – and take care of Sammy, he means everything to me – make sure he knows that.

Tears stung at his eyes, blurring his vision. If Sam thinks I stole his brother from him . . . God, it's no wonder he hates me so much.

Feeling as if the air was being forcefully sucked from his lungs, Drake pushed past the young girl, and staggered out into the hallway.

"Don't go, Dean," Richie called out to him, and the sound of the little boy's feet slapping against the hardwood floors followed him as he stumbled down the stairs. "we haven't finished playin' yet."

"I'm not Dean!" he hoarsely shouted back over his shoulder, "I'm Dr-Drake . . . Dean's gone an' he's never coming back."