Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

A/N: Oh shmoo! Guys, I totally didn't realize it had been a freakin' month since I last updated! I could list the reasons why I was so slow, but I'm not sure that it would matter in the long run. Likely, you don't care—you'd just like me to shut-up and get on with it. But if you're interested…just kidding. On another note, please be aware that the language has sort of…well, let's just say that my characters have sadly grown more comfortable with profanity, so just be aware that there's going to be quite a bit of it. In case you haven't already noticed. Thanks, mimishell and CagedTroll for beta-ing for me! Anyways, sorry about the long wait, and here's the next chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 21: Words Best Left Unheard

Yeah, okay, Sam thought as he gazed out the window, so Pastor Jim always says to look on the bright side of things…so if I do that, then I guess I should be glad that Aubrey decided to ride with Dad. I mean, that's good, right? 'Cause now she's not all in my space and shit… 'course, that's only 'cause she's messed up now, and she's still mad at Dean, and I'm ridin' with Dean, so she's leavin' me alone for now…so I guess that's not so good….

He was once again in his customary place in the front passenger seat of the Impala, and if it wasn't for Braden sprawled out in the backseat as they followed their father to Kansas, it would be just like any other road trip. Except that it wasn't.

Yeah, looking on the bright side is totally a bunch of bullshit.

Because it was pretty damn hard to forget how painfully awkward last night's drive to North Carolina had been. Aubrey had held onto him so tightly that Sam had started to worry that she'd never let go. He'd tried once to put her down, but she'd dug her fingernails into his arms and clung to him, screaming like a banshee. And Sam would know, because he'd heard one before, once, when he was ten.

"Dude, this fucking sucks out loud," Dean grumbled, abruptly breaking into Sam's train of thought, startling the thirteen-year-old with its suddenness.

"Yeah…turn the radio on," Sam replied, willing at this point to listen to his brother's shitty music if it would at least alleviate the silent boredom that had settled over the car an hour ago.

"Nah, that's not what I meant. I'm talkin' about this whole 'going to Missouri's because our sister is fucked up' thing."

"Oh, that."

"Yeah."

"Um…which part were you talking about, though—the 'going to Missouri's' part, or the 'our sister is messed up' part?"

"Both, dumbass."

"Oh. Jerk."

"Bitch."

Sam thought about throwing out another insult, but something—call it little brother intuition—made him pause, sensing that Dean was doing a rare thing: thinking out loud. And considering how rarely Dean gave his younger brother a glimpse at what he was thinking or feeling at any given time, Sam decided it was maybe best to simply shut the hell up and let Dean finish working through whatever was on his mind. Dean was silent for a bit, and Sam was beginning think he'd be wrong and that he should have gone ahead with the insult, when Dean suddenly shattered the silence.

"How long do you think she's gonna stay pissed at me?"

"I dunno…probably awhile though," Sam told him, shrugging apologetically as he turned to stare at his older brother. I mean, if you think about how bad things were just this morning…yeah, that's probably not going away anytime soon.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean said with a sigh.

"But maybe Missouri can help," Sam offered, well aware that any solution involving Missouri was likely to be met with scorn. Dean had always been somewhat less than friendly to the insightful woman, and his animosity towards her didn't seem to have lessened in the year and a half since they'd seen her last.

Sorry, bro, it's all I got.

"And how in the hell do you and Dad figure that? Seriously, Sammy, I'm dying to know. Just how the fuck is she supposed to make things better? I mean, do you honestly think that she's gonna be able to do anything?"

"Well, why not? Maybe she can figure out what's goin' on in Aubrey's head."

"You mean because she's a chick?"

"Well, I guess that would work…but I was sorta thinking more because she's a psychic," Sam said, casting a cocky grin at Dean.

"Smart-ass," Dean said, reaching out to pop Sam lightly across the back of the head.

"Hey, I learned from the best," Sam said, smoothing his hair back into place.

"Damn straight," Dean said with a pale version of his usual smirk, ruffling Sam's hair before he subsided once more into silence.

This is the part where Dean does that whole…what does Dad call it again? Oh yeah, 'brooding.' So yeah, Dean's gonna do the brooding thing, where he gets all quiet and starts thinking too much. Lucky for him he's got me to annoy the shit outta him until he forgets that he's trying to blame himself for everything.

But before he could say anything, Dean resumed his verbal line of reasoning, surprising the hell out of Sam, who was well aware that Dean wasn't exactly what one would call 'chatty' in the car, more content to listen to his music at deafening volumes than carry on anything resembling an in-depth conversation with someone.

"I don't even know why I give a damn," he said tightly. "I just don't get it. A few days ago, I didn't even fucking like her. Either of them. But now, I dunno…it's bugging the hell out of me, Sammy. And I don't know why."

"It's 'cause you're our big brother," Braden spoke up softly from the backseat, the interruption surprising both of the older boys. "And you're a good brother, Dean. Aubby just doesn't understand, that's all," he said, leaning forward to rest his arms on the back of the front seat.

Sam glanced over at Dean, wondering what his older brother would do with that little tidbit, but Dean seemed to consider it for only a moment before he shook his head and leaned up to switch on the radio, things settling back to the moody silence of before with an unsurprising swiftness.

He never believes it when someone other than Dad compliments him—and let's face it: how often does that happen? And why would now be any different?

Sam had never been to Hell, but he imagined that it had to be a lot like the trip from Lumberton to Lawrence. Seventeen hours of Aubrey clinging to him or their dad, seventeen hours of Dean brooding while his crappy music blared painfully through the Impala's speakers, and seventeen hours broken up only by awkward-as-hell pit stops and food breaks had all added up to equal the worst road trip Sam could remember. And Sam could remember quite a few road trips that had sucked pretty bad.

But this one was the worst ever, he thought as they passed a sign reading, "Welcome to Lawrence, Kansas."

"Who would want to live in this godforsaken town?" Braden asked suddenly from the backseat, his voice startling Sam as it broke the uncomfortable silence that had long ago overtaken the car. Shaking his head at the odd phrasing, Sam turned to look at the younger boy, surprised that he was not only awake but lucid.

"Dude, I thought you were asleep. When did you—"

"What would you know about it?" Dean interjected, cutting Sam off as he cast a sharp look at Braden in the rearview mirror.

"Dean, I was talking," Sam began with affront, but Dean turned a warning glare on him before he could say any more.

"Shut-up, Sam," Dean told him harshly, his gaze hot as he glanced back over his shoulder at Braden, and it was clear to Sam that Dean was in one of those moods where anything was liable to set him off. It was a mood that Sam had started growing increasingly familiar with in the past few weeks.

Who the hell pissed in your cornflakes? Ass-hat.

"Answer the question, Braden," Dean went on, sounding to Sam an awful lot like their father. Yeah, that's all I need—another one of Dad to bitch and order me around.

"What question is that?" Braden asked mildly, staring back unconcernedly from his place in the back.

"Lawrence—what the hell would you know about it?"

"Ah, well it is a renowned hell-gate, after all."

Dude, who talks like that? I mean, not even Pastor Jim uses words like 'renowned.'

Dean was silent, his expression troubled, but Sam couldn't tell whether it was because of Braden's revelation or his old-man way with words. Before Sam could comment, however, Braden went on, seeming to be thinking out loud more than talking to the boys.

"That said," the little boy mused, "why anyone would want to put down roots within its borders is beyond me. Utterly foolish, if you ask me."

"We lived here for awhile, until our mom died," Sam told him, glancing over at Dean to see if he was angry. Any mention of their mother was usually enough to send Dean into a stormy silence characterized by a tightly locked jaw and the quivering tension of clenched muscles.

"You lived here?" Braden asked, tearing Sam's attention away from his older brother to see the younger boy looking back at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, 'cept I don't remember. Dean does, though," he offered softly.

"I'm sure that it would be putting it mildly to say they're not pleasant remembrances," Braden said softly, causing both Sam and Dean to cast strange glances back at the little boy.

"Yeah, he doesn't like to talk about it," Sam said slowly, still thrown by Braden's strange way with words. "Neither does Dad," he finished, glancing away from his younger brother's penetrating gaze.

"Well, are we stopping here, or is it merely a coincidence that we happen to be passing through?"

"Stopping here," Sam answered when Dean remained silent, and Sam cast a quick look at his older brother, frowning at the set of Dean's jaw that was certainly a bad sign.

"And why on God's green earth would we want to do that?"

"We don't," Dean told him bluntly.

"Dad thinks it'll help," Sam offered when Dean said nothing further.

"I don't understand."

"Dad thinks Missouri can help Aubrey," Sam continued with a shrug, since Dean wasn't being overly forthcoming with the answers.

"Missouri? Boy—are you daft? We're in Kansas, not Missouri, though I fail to see how our presence in either state will help Aubrey."

Dude, what—

"No, not Missouri the state," Sam said exasperatedly, quickly growing frustrated at not being understood. "I'm talkin' about Missouri the person. She's a friend of Dad's. She's psychic. She lives here in Lawrence."

"Hmm, well that certainly explains a lot," Braden ruminated, nodding absently as he digested the information.

"What do you mean?"

"Hellgates are believed to be something of a wellspring of psychic, as well as demonic energy, so it's quite within reason to find a psychic close by. Myself, I think the tendency is more likely due to the sheer number of spirits that are drawn to the hellgate—the spirits themselves will oftentimes focus a psychic's power. That's a working theory, mind you—I can't say for certain."

"What?"

"Nevermind—it's a bit complicated," Braden replied, and Sam couldn't help but frown, annoyed by the idea that his little brother was speaking over his head.

"How the hell do you know all this shit?" Sam asked, turning to scowl at the younger boy.

"One learns quite a bit over the course of a lifetime" Braden told him with a strange gleam in his eye.

"Dude, you're eight," Dean pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

"Ah, yes, that's right," Braden replied with an enigmatic smile, dropping back to lay his head once again on the steadily growing pile of pillows that had found their way into the backseat, namely due to their one and only sister's fondness for motel pillows.

The eight-year-old shifted a bit as his eyes drifted closed, and within minutes, he lapsed back into sleep, looking as though he'd never moved in the first place.

"Our little brother's fucking weird," Dean said after a moment.

"Yeah…he sorta fits right in, doesn't he?" Sam replied with a mischievous grin.

Fifteen minutes later, Dean brought the car to a stop behind their father's truck at the curb in front of Missouri's house. Sam reached for the seatbelt release, ready to get the hell out of the car, and he was just about to throw open the door when he realized that Dean hadn't moved.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his hand dropping away from the door handle as he turned back to face Dean.

"I hate it here," Dean murmured, his gaze dropping to the steering wheel he had a death-grip on. "I hate this whole damn town, and I wish it would fucking burn to the ground," he bit out through clenched teeth, his eyes bright with a fervent hatred that almost scared Sam.

"Maybe we won't stay that long…I don't think Dad likes it much either," Sam murmured.

"What the hell is he thinking, anyway? Mom died in this town, and nobody but us seemed to fucking care. They just went on like nothing ever happened, living their stupid apple-pie, bullshit lives. Why would he think this is okay, that coming here was a good idea?"

A knock on the window brought an end to the conversation as they both looked over to see their father standing at the car door with a 'what the fuck' look on his face, obviously wondering why they were still sitting on their asses in the car.

With a sigh, Dean slowly pushed his door open, ignoring Sam as he eased himself out of the driver's seat, and hobbled towards the trunk. John wordlessly reached into the backseat and picked Braden up, even as Sam moved to join Dean at the trunk. Before he got very far, however, a sudden weight slammed into him from behind, almost knocking him to the ground.

What the—

Catching his balance, he suddenly knew without looking what had happened. 'Course, the little girl-arms around my waist sorta give it away, he thought, sighing as Aubrey gave no sign of letting go.

"C'mon, Aub, aren't you tired of that, yet?"

But obviously she wasn't as she refused to let go, burying her face in his spine as she clung to him. Twisting, he shifted, hefting her into his arms so that he could at least walk. He fell in line behind his dad, casting an apologetic look back at Dean who stared back at him with only a hint of hurt before the mask was back in place.

Pretend all you like, dude, but I know the truth. And Missouri's gonna know the truth, too.

Sam was pretty sure Dean knew that, too, knew that trying to hide anything from Missouri was just plain stupid. And he was pretty sure, too, that that's why Dean didn't like her much. He couldn't hide anything from her, and he hated it, hated that anybody could possibly see through the layer of macho bullshit he'd become so damn good at hiding behind.

"Dean, use the crutches," John called back over his shoulder as he headed for Missouri's front door with Braden in one arm, and a duffle in the other. Hitching Aubrey up higher in his arms as they stepped up onto the porch, Sam watched impatiently as John dropped the duffle and reached up to knock on the door, only for the door to swing up a split second before his fist reached it.

"John Winchester," Missouri said, beaming up at him as she reached forward to hug him, "It's been too long. How are y—" She paused in mid-sentence, her face dropping as her gaze shot from John over to Aubrey and then Dean before landing once more on John. "Johnny, what have you been doing to your children? They're fallin' apart."

"Hell, Missouri, I'm not far behind 'em," John replied with a regretful shrug. "I was sort of hopin' you could help," he mumbled, and Sam was torn between enjoying the sight of his father having to humble himself to ask for help and pitying him for the weariness in his voice.

"Well don't just stand there—come in," she scolded mildly, swinging the door open wider and stepping aside so they could come in. Sam glanced back once to make sure Dean was behind him before stepping into the cool air-conditioned interior of Missouri's house.

I don't care what Dean says—I love it here.

Missouri's house had a cozy feel, despite all the weird New Age-y stuff littering every room. The doorway beads were Sam's favorite, the way they scattered around him, only to gently drop back into place with a soft jangle as though they'd never been disturbed. He'd tried to get his father to buy some once, but that had been a no-go.

Too bad—that shit's cool.

"Dean, you go on in and sit down, put that knee of yours up—and don't you argue with me!" she warned with a pointed finger when the seventeen-year-old opened his mouth to do, Sam knew, just that. "I know it hurts, and nothing you say is gonna convince me otherwise. Go on now," she told him, and with a disgusted sigh, Dean turned towards the den, shaking his head angrily. "And don't you sass me, boy!"

"So don't eavesdrop, then," Dean all but growled, earning himself a swift swat to the back of the head from John.

"I may not have taught you all that I should have about social niceties, but I know I taught you better than that. I won't have you being disrespectful, especially when you're a guest in someone's home. Now you cut that shit out, and you do it fast," John told him with the classic Winchester glare. "Am I making myself clear?"

"Yessir," the seventeen-year-old mumbled, his eyes fastened on the floor as he tried to slip past them into the den.

"Dean," John said, bringing Dean to an abrupt halt, and Sam could see Dean's body tense as he waited for what he knew was coming. "Apologize to Missouri, and then you do what she said."

"Sorry," Dean forced out, knowing better than to move until the apology had been acknowledged and accepted. Sam knew that lesson firsthand, as their father had never tolerated otherwise.

"That's alright," Missouri said graciously, which was a bit odd for her, Sam thought, because she didn't usually make it any easier for Dean than he did for her. "I know you don't feel well. You go on now, and rest for a bit before dinner."

Wordlessly, Dean turned his back and left the room, and with a shake of his head, John followed him out, mumbling something about laying Braden down in the guest room. Missouri turned to face Sam and Aubrey. She started to say something to Sam, but paused when her gaze fell on Aubrey.

"Oh, honey. Your brother didn't kill your mama. And she wouldn't want you to hate him for watching out for you," she said gently. And as though that was all the encouragement she needed, Aubrey dropped out of Sam's arms and threw herself at Missouri, sobbing pitifully into the older woman's shirtfront as Sam stood there helplessly.

Oh shit, now what do I do? Awkward.

Painful minutes ticked by as though time had slowed, leaving Sam rocking back and forth on his heels wondering how the hell he could get out of the room without being too obvious about it.

"Sam, I need help unloading—let's go."

At the sound of his father's voice, Sam turned, relieved for once to see his father standing behind him. John turned around, beating a hasty retreat out of the house, and Sam followed right on his heels.

"Thanks, Dad," Sam told him. "All that crying was startin' to get to me."

"Worried you were gonna start channeling your 'inner girl'?" John asked with a smirk, ruffling Sam's hair as they neared the car.

"Nah—worried I was gonna have to do the manly thing and be a shoulder for one of 'em to cry on. That shit's embarrassing, Dad!"

"Yeah, well just remember that if you ever do give into that urge, they'll love you for it—women eat that sensitive shit right up. That's somethin' your big brother figured out a long time ago, and for all his talk about hating 'chick-flick moments,' he knows how to use them to his advantage. So learn from it—you can garner a lot of favor by playing the sensitive card."

"Sweet," Sam reflected, envisioning the potential he had for scoring points with future girlfriends. But then again, if they're anything like Aubrey, do I even want a girlfriend? I mean, sure, they're cute and all, but girls are freakin' nuts…

"Alright, take Boo in first—and don't put him anywhere near your brother. I have a feeling Dean's just biding his time until he finds a way around me so that he can still kill the damn thing."

I guess I shouldn't tell you about his latest idea to build a hamster-sized trebuchet as soon as you quit watchin' him, Sam thought, hiding a grin as he picked the cage up and headed inside. He'd snuck a peek at Dean's "Ways to Kill a Hamster" list when his brother had turned his back for a minute. While said action had earned him a mild punch to the shoulder blade, Dean had let him in on his plans. So even though Sam had nothing against Boo, he valued his brother's confidence too much to enlighten his father as to Dean's intentions.

Sorry, Dad. Brothers trump fathers when it comes to…well…everything.

Within an hour, the Impala and the truck were unloaded, and Missouri had somehow managed to simultaneously calm Aubrey down and get dinner ready, all without any visible effort. Sam set the table, rolling his eyes as Aubrey moved everything almost the second he set it down. Great, another perfectionist—she gets that from Dad. The last of the plates placed carefully on the table amid Missouri's warnings to be careful with her china, Sam slid into a seat right as John came back from the guest bedroom with Braden in tow. Dean followed behind, his hair tousled and sticking straight up in places as a result of his nap, a nap he would totally deny taking, Sam knew, merely because he would consider napping before dinner a completely pansy thing to do.

Wonder if he'd punch me if I called him a pansy right now…

But the disgruntled expression on Dean's face as Braden took the seat next to Sam and left Dean to sit beside Missouri was more than enough to indicate that Dean would likely do more than just punch him if he started something. Wisely, he decided to keep his mouth shut, even if he couldn't quite hide the smirk on his face. He reached for the bowl of mashed potatoes, eager to eat food that hadn't been soaked in grease first.

"I don't want to this time, Daddy," Aubrey blurted out softly, casting a quick look at Dean before looking back at John. "You say it."

"Say what?" John asked, looking up from his plate, his fork poised over his food.

"The blessing."

"Oh. Sam, it's your turn," John said without blinking, not once hesitating as he gazed back at Sam with an almost imperceptible smirk.

"My turn?! What the hell, Dad?" Sam asked incredulously, staring back with undisguised affront at this latest turn of events. But as he watched the smirk disappear and his father's jaw tighten, Sam winced inwardly, knowing he was about to get his ass handed to him.

Shit.

"Last I checked," John began, all joking aside, "we were guests in someone else's home, and you know better than to use that kind of language at the table."

What a stupid ass rule—like we don't use that kind of language at Uncle Bobby's table. You say 'fuck' at Uncle Bobby's all the time. You even talk like that at Pastor Jim's house.

"C'mon, Dad—that's totally whack," he reasoned. "You say—"

"Quit arguing with me and say the blessing like I told you." Sam cast a quick glance at Dean, flashing his best puppy-dog eyes at him in hopes that his older brother would take pity on him and help him out. But a quick smirk told him that Dean was throwing his little brother to the dogs on this one.

If you wanna be that way…

"Well why can't Dean say it?" Sam asked, having no qualms about turning the tables on his older brother. "Why didja pick me? He— , I mean, heck, why do we hafta say it at all? We don't say it anywhere else," he pointed out, only barely holding back a smug smile as he decided he had his father beat.

"Because, Samuel," Missouri broke in, "it's important to your sister. Now, go ahead, boy, we're waiting," she told him, not unkindly but with the sort of tone that Sam knew meant business.

But I don't know how, he thought with growing alarm, feeling his face heat with the flush of embarrassment. What am I supposed to say?

"You just go right ahead, baby, and say what comes to your heart," she told him as she and the twins reverently closed their eyes and bowed their heads, while Dean gazed back at Sam with a triumphant grin. Sensing movement under the table, Sam heard a slight thump and a scuffle before the older boy grudgingly closed his eyes, the kick from their father encouraging at least a pretense of reverence for the blessing.

Sam had no doubt that if their father hadn't been sitting there, he would have received a kick, too, courtesy of his older brother in return for attempting to put the blessing off on him. It wasn't as though Sam had anything against God—he didn't. In fact, he prayed quite often, just not out loud where his brother or father could hear him.

Why'd he hafta pick me? I don't know anything about saying a blessing. I mean, throwing God a quick, silent 'keep Dean from getting his stupid self killed' is a lot different than saying the blessing out loud at the table. He shoulda made Dean do it—he at least learned it before Mom died.

"Go on now, Sam," Missouri murmured as John's eyes closed obediently as well.

Oh, man, how do I start? Shit—whoops, that's probably not it. Sorry, God…um…

"Okay, um…God is…" Sam mumbled, trying desperately to recall the rhyming blessing the twins used, fighting the panic when his mind kept drawing a blank. "…um…great? Yeah. God is great, and…God is…cool? Uh…and let us thank him…for…our food…right... and uh…yeah…thanks. Amen?" he said questioningly, praying that that was all he was required to say as he opened his eyes and glanced hesitantly at his father. He could feel his face flush with embarrassment, just waiting for his dad to shake his head at Sam's pathetic attempt to say the blessing.

"That'll do just fine, son," John said softly and with a nod began to eat, everyone else following suit. And strangely, those five little words eased his shame, and with a smile, Sam picked up his fork and dug in.

"You know what, Ms. Missouri?" Aubrey asked hesitantly a few minutes into their meal, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to muster the courage to talk instead of cry.

"What's that, baby?"

"Me and Bray got a hamster, and his name's Boo. He's real cute, and we share him with Sam."

"But not with Dean?" Missouri asked, and Sam snorted as he imagined what would happen if the twins ever attempted to share Boo with Dean. Aubrey cast a quick look at Dean before turning wide eyes to Missouri, shaking her head emphatically.

"We don't share Boo with him."

Missouri started to reply only to turn towards Dean with a stern glare as a calculating gleam came into Dean's eyes.

"Dean Winchester! You'll do no such thing!"

"Do what?" John asked, his eyes narrowing in that suspicious way that Sam was all too familiar with.

"The ideas that boy of yours comes up with…imagine dropping that poor little creature off a rooftop."

"I was gonna give it a parachute," Dean retorted. "Maybe," he added in a mumble, and John began to cough, his eyes widening in disbelief as he stared back at his oldest incredulously.

"Boy, you have lost your mind," Missouri told him, scolding him mildly before turning to face their father. "John, maybe you should limit the boy's caffeine intake."

"I already do," John replied, aiming a warning glare at Dean before rubbing his eyes wearily.

Sam shoveled in a bite of Missouri's mashed potatoes, enjoying the taste of 'real food,' only to frown when he heard a tell-tale sniffle.

Oh no, not again.

"Aubrey, what's wrong?" John asked, and Sam could tell their dad was trying his hardest not to sound frustrated.

And for Dad, that's saying a lot—usually, he doesn't give a rat's ass if he sounds frustrated or not.

"Dean's gonna kill Boo, just like he killed Mama," she said, dissolving into tears. Sam's gaze shot to Dean, catching only a glimpse of hurt in his eyes before he suddenly came to his feet, the chair falling to the floor behind him. Without a word, his face a mask of indifference, Dean turned to leave, his jaw tight with tension.

"Dean, sit down," John ordered, but for once, Dean ignored him, leaving the room without looking back, even as Missouri lifted Aubrey into her lap, cradling the little girl to her chest as she rocked her back and forth.

"He needs some time, John—just let him be for now."

Across the table, John dropped his fork on his plate, burying his head in his hands as he reached his wit's end. Braden stilled, carefully laying his fork down and staring over at his sister with a worried expression.

Great. Dinner is freakin' awesome, and I can't even enjoy any of it because everybody else stopped eating, and I'll look like a jerk if I keep eating when no one else is.

"Sam, you go ahead and eat, child—it's alright," Missouri said softly, and Sam started, taken by surprise for a moment.

Dude, how'd she know? It's like she read my mi—oh, right. Duh.

Shaking his head at his momentary stupidity, Sam gingerly picked up his fork and took a bite, eying his father, waiting to see if he'd say something. But John didn't, instead dropping his napkin on the table and moving as if to stand.

"John Winchester, I know you're not about to leave my table with all that food on your plate! You sit right back down, now, and you eat that food. A woman slaves away at the stove, the least you can do is eat what she fixes you."

"Missouri," John began, but she cut him off, something that very few people did and got away with—Sam knew from experience.

"Don't you 'Missouri' me—sit yourself down and eat. You keep up all that worryin' about these children, and you're gonna waste away. I got this baby, and she's gonna be just fine."

With a sigh, John sat back down, and as Missouri began to hum to the little girl nestled in her arms, Sam found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, his dad had been right to bring them here.

Maybe Missouri can help.



Sam's eyes opened, staring confusedly up at the ceiling before suddenly recalling where he was. He wasn't really sure what had woken him, because after watching his older brother for a long minute, he knew it wasn't Dean that had woken him up. Dean's familiar presence was behind him, the older boy's head buried under the pillow they'd started placing in between them to divvy up the space. As they'd gotten older, space had become a growing issue, both of them needing space only to find that there wasn't much to spare. And when gentle nudges to move over had turned into jabbing elbows and painful kicks to the back, their father had intervened, shoving a pillow in between them and warning both of them to stay on their own side or suffer consequences. And while Dean tended to burrow under the pillow somewhat, the pillow at least stayed in place, so Sam let the infraction go.

He wasn't really sure what had caused him to wake up, but now that he awake, his bladder was demanding relief, and with an annoyed sigh, Sam pushed down the covers, knowing he wouldn't be able to wait until morning.

I was comfortable, dammit.

Slowly, Sam eased out of bed, knowing that any slight movement could wake Dean despite the pain meds that their dad had made Dean take for his knee. Even though Dean acted like he was fine, Sam knew that a day in the car plus the ongoing 'therapy' had left his older brother hurting.

Yeah, better not wake him up—he'd tear me a new one if I woke him up just 'cause I had to piss. Especially after he was so bitchy after dinner…Not that Sam blamed him. Being accused of killing your sister's mom probably doesn't do much for you.

Carefully, he navigated the living room, stepping over the clothes, abandoned weapons, and tossed candy wrappers that Dean had left all over the floor. As he headed for the bathroom, he could hear the quiet murmur of voices coming from the kitchen, and since Sam had never been one to pass up an opportunity to eavesdrop, he slowly made his way down the hall, avoiding the floorboards that creaked the most as he eased closer to the kitchen, where he could hear his father and Missouri talking.

He tiptoed as far as the kitchen door and froze in place, making a conscious effort to control his breathing so that he could hear better.

Yes, eavesdropping was an art that Sam had long ago become quite good at, and as he leaned slightly closer to the door, it didn't take him long to pick up on his dad and Missouri's conversation.

"By then," John was saying, "things were so fucked up that I just left Bobby to handle the amulet and the souls, just so we could get out of there. Dean's got a guilt complex a mile wide, so he thinks it's all his fault, Braden's as weird as ever, and Aubrey's devastated. I haven't even had the twins a month, and one of 'em is already screwed to hell."

"She's a little girl, John—you can't expect a child her age to accept what's happened without question."

"Why can't I? Braden seems to be accepting it just fine."

"Yes, well you did say there's something strange about him," she pointed out.

"About that…did you…sense anything weird about him?"

"It's strange…I can't get anything specific off him, but there's something there, something I can't quite put my finger on."

"Great," John said, and there was no mistaking the discouragement in his voice. "My youngest boy confuses the hell outta me, and my only girl is emotionally unstable."

"Shame on you, John Winchester," she scolded. "Grown men sometimes can't accept the things we see, so expecting one of your babies to is downright foolish."

"Well what the hell am I supposed to do, Missouri?" John asked her, his voice rising with frustration.

"You're supposed to love her, comfort her—be her father. And if you don't do something soon, you're gonna have a rift in your family that not even time will heal. Dean's hurting as much as that daughter of yours is, only he's much quieter about it. Guilt is gonna be his undoing if you don't take care of this now."

"I know," Sam heard his father say, and it wasn't hard to hear the weariness and the misery in his father' voice. "I just…Mary was always better at the emotional shit than I was…and you know, I always counted myself lucky that we had boys 'cause I knew I'd be a damn failure when it came to the emotional shit that comes along with having girls. Now I'm finding out that I was right."

"Don't sell yourself short, John. You love your children, even if you sometimes find it hard to say the words. They know you love them. You've just got to find a way to show Aubrey the same way you show your boys. She doesn't require words any more than the boys do."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Go on to bed now. You're tired."

"I'm fi—"

"Don't lie to me, John Winchester—we both know it won't work. Now you get yourself to bed right now."

Oh shit, Sam thought, scrambling away from the door and darting into the bathroom, praying that his father wouldn't have to take a piss before heading to bed. He could jump in the tub, but his dad was notoriously good at sensing another presence in any room he happened to be in.

Luckily, John went past, mounting the stairs as he headed up to the guest bedroom where the twins were already sleeping, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief, even as he heard Missouri stir from her chair.

"Sam, you come on outta there, now," he heard her say softly, and with a sigh, Sam slowly opened the bathroom door, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Eavesdropping is a bad habit, Samuel."

"Sorry, Missouri," he replied, simultaneously sincere and insincere. Sorry I got caught. I mean, c'mon, how else am I gonna find out anything? It's not like Dad ever tells me anything.

"Your father tells you what he thinks you need to know," she told him, motioning for him to precede her into the kitchen. "He has a lot on his mind, child, and he does the best he can."

"He could tell me more, though—I'm not a baby, you know," Sam retorted as she sat back down at the kitchen table with a cup of steaming hot tea, vaguely aware that he sounded childishly petulant, but the acknowledgement wasn't enough to overcome his resentment.

"Oh, honey, he's your father—you'll always be his baby, just like that older brother of yours. That doesn't change no matter how old you get. And in his own way, your father tries his best to protect you from all the ugliness that's out there. There's more out there than you know, and if it means keeping secrets from you in order to keep you safe from all that darkness, then that's what he'll do."

"Now you sound like Pastor Jim," Sam grumbled.

"Jim Murphy is a smart man."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam muttered, and with a mumbled "goodnight," he left through the swinging door of the kitchen, about to head back to the living room only to pause at the bathroom door.

Oh, right.

Drowsily, he took care of business and crawled back into bed, somehow managing to peel the covers away from Dean, who had at some point in the ten minutes Sam had been gone, completely cocooned himself in Sam's half of the blanket.

These blankets are even better than the ones at Pastor Jim's—they smell good, like…I dunno…good. What do they smell like? He tried to figure out exactly what it was that made Missouri's so special, but he lost himself to sleep somewhere in between sunshine and Downy fabric softener.

Sleep came quickly to him, and for a long while, Sam was adrift in a sea of dreams, unaware when his state of consciousness changed.

Distantly, he could hear the soft murmuring of voices, and as he lay there, oblivious, in that place between sleep and awake, he heard Missouri speaking softly.

"I wondered when you were going to make yourself known," he heard her say, and vaguely, Sam wondered who she was talking to.

"I prefer to bide my time—it's best not to get o'er hasty."

Braden?

"Why are you here?"

"I have a job to do, and I take that job very seriously."

It's Braden…but it's not Braden...how can it be him and not him at the same time? Sam wondered confusedly.

"What job could you possibly have that you need to use that baby for your own purposes?"

"The matter doesn't concern you. Suffice it to say that I do what I must. I follow orders—you don't have to like it."

"If you mean that boy or his family any harm—"

"I'm not evil," Sam heard not-Braden say indifferently.

"Well you would hardly admit it if you were," Missouri retorted in that familiar way she had about her, the mildly delivered but biting sarcasm that she so often employed.

"True."

"John Winchester isn't a man you want to cross, and you certainly don't want to threaten his babies—he won't abide it."

"Be that as it may, you should keep in mind that telling him would not be wise. Consider as well, madam, that you have no proof to offer him. I come and go as I please—there's no conjuring one such as me."

What's he talkin' about? Sam wondered indistinctly, feeling himself slowly drifting closer to wakefulness.

"I don't want you in my house."

"My dear woman, how do you propose to stop me?"

Sam stirred, then, a growing unease forcing him those final steps toward wakefulness.

"Missouri?" he called out, his heart pounding in alarm as he tried to figure out whether what he'd heard was real or imagined.

A moment later, Missouri appeared in the doorway of the living room, even as Dean groaned, shifting restlessly.

"S'mmy?" he asked groggily, the pain meds in his system leaving him less than lucid as he struggled to wake up enough to find out what was wrong with his little brother.

But Sam didn't reply as he stared up at Missouri worriedly, his mind churning with alarm, about what, he couldn't say.

"Missouri?" he said again, not even certain what he was trying to ask as he gazed back at her with worried eyes.

"Everything's alright, Sam—go on back to sleep now."

"Wha's wrong?" Dean asked, his eyes unfocused as he lifted his head from under the pillow to gaze at Sam blearily.

"Nothin' to worry about," Missouri answered smoothly, "Sam was just dreaming—isn't that right, child?" she asked, looking at Sam with a look in her eyes that Sam couldn't quite figure out.

"Yeah, musta been," Sam murmured. But it seemed real…

"Don't you worry none, Sam—you go on back to sleep now, the both of you."

Just then, Braden walked up behind Missouri with a bewildered expression.

"How come I'm in here?" he asked, gazing up at her with confusion.

"You were sleepwalkin', baby—c'mon, let me take you back to bed, now," she said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder as she turned to lead the little boy out. "Night, boys," she called back over her shoulder.

With a grunt, Dean pulled the pillow back over his head and was asleep again before Sam had even laid back down. Pulling the sheet up to his shoulders, Sam rolled over, blinking sleepily before closing his eyes.

Guess it was just a dream…had to be…

A/N: I hope I found all of the mistakes--if not, oh well. My excuse is that it's late, and I didn't want to make you all wait any longer for this chapter. Thanks everyone for your reviews!! Hope you'll all be so kind as to continue to review for me, despite the fact that I'm completely sucktastic at getting speedy updates out. Love you, guys, anyway!

michelexXx: Yeah, Aubrey sort of ends up going through as much emotional angst as big brother Dean, doesn't she? Things will be getting better for her shortly, though, so don't worry! Thanks for reviewing!

Poppyflake: Acceptance of their situation is coming soon for Aubrey. I'm hoping to wrap that part up a bit in the next chapter, and then I plan to move us ahead a number of years. Expect to see John taking care of the issues in the family in the next chapter.

Bunty: I must have really put Aubrey through the wringer in the last chapter, because you're the third person to basically say "poor Aubrey"—lol! I mean, I knew I was giving her a lot of angst, but I didn't realize how much it stood out. As for Dean vs. Boo, yes, I enjoy writing it as much as you enjoy reading it. One of my betas is really big on that saga, so I try to throw it in whenever I can. Hope you enjoyed the latest hamster bit. You know, it's funny—Boo is quite important, yet he's rarely present in the story. Strange…anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

Hero Lilly: Sorry that I made you wait so long for this chapter—especially after all of the lovely things that you said in your last review. Let me know what you think of this one, okay?! Thanks for reviewing!

PRACK: You know, I've totally considered a 'Dean and Aubrey playing Barbies' scene—I actually have it laid out in my head. If I can fit it into the next chapter, I'll go for it. So how do you think I did with Missouri? I should totally bring in Jo, just to annoy you. JUST KIDDING! I wouldn't do that to you, especially since you've lovingly caved into my demands to not kill all of your characters. LOL! Anyways, thanks for reviewing! TTYL!

zuimar: Thanks for being so forgiving about the long wait…do you feel like being that forgiving about my latest long wait? Yeah, lately, I've been totally sucky at updating quickly. The good news is, I've actually typed up about 3 pages of the next chapter, so I've gotten a start on it. Since Missouri is one of your favorite characters, what did you think of her in this chapter? Did I do alright? Thanks for reviewing!

Phoenix07: Wow, an all-caps review! Your enthusiasm makes me smile—I'm sorry that I made you wait so long! But don't worry—Aubrey and Dean's issues will be worked out in the next chapter…mostly because, as much as I love angst, I couldn't bear to have them hate one another permanently. Anyways, thanks so much for reviewing!

CagedTroll: Thanks for beta-ing this chapter for me! I think I took care of everything you pointed out—let me know if I totally messed something up! Thanks for reviewing the last chapter for me, too! Hugs!