Title: You're Not Alone
Author: Nobdyptclr
Disclaimer: Insert standard disclaimer here. lol.
A/N: Happy Holidays everyone. Thanks for your continued reviews! Sorry I'm a little late on this update, but I promise to have another one no later than Saturday.
Chapter 7: You're Not Alone
Shortly after the sun peeked over the horizon, Missouri gave up on sleep and climbed out of bed. It wasn't the boys' fault – sleep was often a stranger to her. Her powers resulted in a cacophony of voices in her head and, while her control was good, there were many nights where sleep was limited to a few hours.
Settling into the comfort of her familiar routine, she showered, dressed and tidied her bedroom and the adjoining bathroom before stepping out into the hallway. The door to the upstairs bedroom was closed and the house remained silent as she descended the stairs. Missouri glanced into the guest room on her way past and found herself stopping for a closer look. Dean was asleep in the bed, stretched out on his back; his wounded arm was resting on his chest with the other extended upward, hand tucked under his pillow. His brother was leaning forward in a chair with his head pillowed on his arms on the edge of the bed, shotgun cradled on his lap as he slept.
With a shake of her head and a small smile, Missouri tiptoed into the room and took the spare blanket from the foot of the bed to spread across Sam's shoulders. She felt his gratitude in her mind as he mumbled something that resembled "thanks Dean" before drifting back to sleep.
At the sound of his brother's voice, Dean began to stir, and Missouri moved up the far side of the bed toward him. She pretended not to notice when his good arm tensed and partially withdrew a knife from under the pillow, instead focusing on his face as his eyes opened and he stared glassily at her.
"Dean, honey, it's okay," she said gently. "You're safe at my house, and Sam is right here with you." She felt gratified when he accepted her words without question, tucking the knife away under his pillow.
Missouri reached out to lay her hand on his forehead, relieved to find no fever. "Try to go back to sleep if you can," she told him in the same gentle voice. "It's still early." She ran her hand through his hair as his eyes closed and, when he leaned into the gesture, remained by his side, stroking his hair, until he fell back to sleep.
Having the boys there with her felt like a piece of her life had just dropped into place – a piece that she hadn't known was missing. She still felt that vague sense of danger, but it was accompanied by a certainty that this was what she was supposed to do. Missouri accepted that they would be moving on but, for the time being, she would do her part to take care of them.
Adjusting the bed covers, she reluctantly forced herself to leave the boys to their sleep and continued with her housekeeping. When Sam got up a little over an hour later, he followed the smell of fresh coffee to the kitchen, where he found her putting away dishes.
"Good morning, Sam. Are you hungry?"
Sam gave her a small grin as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Just coffee for now, thanks." He started toward the pot, but Missouri motioned him into a seat, placing a mug in front of him, followed quickly by the milk and sugar.
"How did you sleep?" she asked, returning to the dishes.
"A few hours. That's pretty normal for me," Sam explained quickly. "I'm really sorry I kept you up so late."
"I told you to stop apologizing," Missouri reminded him. She finished with the dishes and brought her own cup of coffee to the table. "I'm glad that I can help."
"Still," Sam continued, "if there's anything that I can do…"
"We'll see," Missouri answered noncommittally. There were errands to run, and she wanted the opportunity to speak to Dean alone, but she could also sense Sam's reluctance to be too far away from his big brother. "First let's see about some breakfast." She began pulling ingredients from her cabinets and refrigerator. "Pancakes, bacon and eggs?"
Sam grinned, joining her by the stove. "Perfect. I'll give you a hand."
"I don't mind…" Missouri began.
"You don't have to wait on us. I want to help. I haven't had the chance to cook in a while." Sam thought back to his time with Jess, remembering the meals that they'd fixed together. He realized with surprise that the memories were happy and not accompanied by the expected pain. With the realization came the sense of loss, but he pushed it aside impatiently and accepted the pancake batter from Missouri. She gave him a sympathetic smile as she laid strips of bacon in a frying pan, patting his arm reassuringly.
As they had almost finished preparing the meal, Missouri turned to him. "Why don't you go give your brother a hand while I dish this up?"
Sam nodded, wiping his hands, and went down the hall. He found Dean standing by the bed, his good arm holding him up as he leaned on the nightstand.
"Dean, what are you doing?" Sam rushed to his brother's side, but hesitated to touch him; he seemed like one big bandage.
"I gotta take a piss, Sammy, if that's okay," Dean snapped at him. "Damned pills made my head fuzzy. I'll be fine in a minute."
Sam brushed off his tone. Dean was always crabby when he was hurt, and he hated the loss of control that came with the medication. "Let me give you a hand," he offered.
Dean sighed, pushing off the nightstand to take a couple of shaky steps. Sam moved up on his right side and grabbed his good arm when it became clear he wasn't going to be able to stay on his feet alone. He slid his arm around Dean's waist, holding him up gently, mindful of the stitches in his side. Dean accepted his help without comment, but turned on him when they reached the bathroom.
"You're not going to stand here and watch, are you?" he snarled.
His attitude made Sam want to do just that, and anything else that might irritate his brother, but he realized it would be a wasted effort. He'd end up more embarrassed than Dean, who hadn't hesitated to walk through a strange house in his boxers. Shaking his head, Sam backed out of the room, closing the door.
"I'll go find your toothbrush and stuff," he called.
He returned a few minutes later with the promised toothbrush, clean boxers and sweatpants.
"Dude, where's my razor?"
"Dean, there's no way you're standing in front of the mirror long enough to shave. Relax. There's nobody to impress here."
Dean smirked, pulling on the clean clothes awkwardly with one hand. He lowered himself onto the edge of the tub as he brushed his teeth and Sam could see sweat popping out on his forehead.
Sam helped his brother rinse his mouth out, then lowered him to sit on the toilet. Dean leaned forward, resting his forehead on his hand, elbow on knee. Sam placed a cool, damp washcloth on the back of his neck, thinking of the times that his brother had done the same for him.
"Dizzy," Dean said thickly. "Damned pills."
"Just take it easy a minute, then we'll get you back to bed," Sam told him gently. Grabbing the matching hand towel from the rack, he soaked it in the cold water too, wringing it out and using it to wipe his brother's face. Dean accepted his ministrations for a minute before pushing his hand away.
"Don't baby me, Sam," he snapped, pulling himself up.
Sam sighed, but stayed by his side, taking most of his weight as they slowly made their way back to the bedroom. As soon as Dean was settled back in bed, Missouri appeared with a tray containing both their plates. Sensing the tension, she set it down on the dresser without comment and left them alone.
Sam set the tray on Dean's lap, taking his own plate and coffee as he sat back in his chair. They didn't speak as they ate, and Sam was relieved to see that Dean did eat. As they finished he reached for the vial of pills, but Dean stopped him.
"I'm not taking any more of that shit."
Sam eyed his brother, seeing his pain in the lines around his eyes and the crease in his forehead. "Dean, I know you're in pain. Don't be a stubborn ass."
"You know that crap makes me sick. Quit trying to shove it down my throat!" Dean shouted hoarsely, his hand going to the wound on his neck as the stitches pulled. "Just leave me the hell alone!"
"Fine," Sam snapped, slamming his dishes onto the tray. "You're way past crabby now, jerk. I've had about enough of your attitude." Grabbing the tray, he stormed out of the room.
Missouri met him in the kitchen, taking the tray from his hands.
"God, why is he such an idiot?" Sam complained. "I'm trying to take care of him and he's just got to make it so hard."
"Sam, it's not easy for him either. He hates that you have to see him like this," Missouri explained. "He's used to being the strong one."
Sam considered her words before nodding in acceptance. "But if it was me, he'd force the pills down my throat," he mumbled.
Missouri sighed. "You're his little brother. He'll always take better care of you than he does himself. There's no sense in trying to make him take those pills. You'll just end up with hard feelings on both sides. So, do you want to complain or do you want to do something for your brother?"
It was Sam's turn to sigh. "Of course I want to help him. Not that he'll appreciate it."
"Oh, I think he'll appreciate this a lot," Missouri assured him. She set the tray on the counter and rummaged under the sink. Sam looked at her in confusion as she handed him a bucket of cleaning supplies. "For the car," she clarified.
Sam stared at her, then his face broke into a smile. Dean hadn't thought to ask about the car yet, but he definitely would eventually. To be able to say that he'd spent hours scrubbing the blood out… that would be worth a lot to his brother; or from his brother, he corrected his thought with a grin, grabbing the supplies and heading to the garage.
Missouri watched him go before pouring a glass of water. She stopped in the bathroom for Tylenol before walking into the guest room.
Dean was lying on the bed with his good arm across his eyes. She could sense his pain and see it in the set of his jaw, but she fought the urge to take him in her arms. She knew that awake he'd be less receptive to her comfort. Instead she cleared her throat as she crossed to the bed.
He winced as he quickly pulled his arm away and looked at her. Missouri was shocked by the resignation in his face and his thoughts; he expected another round of verbal sparring, for her to take shots at him like she had during his last visit.
"Oh, honey," she said gently, "I'm not going to mess with you." She ran a hand through his hair and smiled when, in his confusion, he let her. "I didn't mean half those things, Dean. You were so upset and trying so hard to hold together. I just wanted to knock you off balance, to keep your mind off everything else."
Dean eyed her suspiciously before accepting her words as true. Missouri smiled wryly to herself. He was a lot less trusting than his little brother.
"Dean," she began, "I know you're in pain…"
"I'm not taking any more of those pills," he interrupted.
"You know, Sam is an adult. He can take care of things while you heal."
Dean sighed. "That's not it. I mean, yeah, you can see in my head so you know I hate this, but I hate the way the pills make me feel too." He looked at her imploringly, and she felt the truth in his words.
"Take these instead." She handed him the pills in her hand. "Tylenol," she explained, helping him sit up, trying not to be offended when he studied the pills before popping them in his mouth.
"Thanks," Dean said, taking the offered water. "Where's Sam?"
"He's trying to earn brownie points cleaning out the car," Missouri laughed, "but don't let on that I told you." Her smile faded when Dean didn't even crack a smile. She could sense the turmoil of his thoughts, and reached out to place her hand on his arm.
"Not everything is about what happened in the asylum, Dean. Although he does blame himself for that – for not being strong enough to fight the spirit off. He blames himself for Netawaka too, both times."
"That's just stupid," Dean muttered. "Netawaka was my fault."
Missouri wanted to point out that there was a third Winchester who was responsible for all three incidents, but she knew Dean wouldn't hear accusations against his father. Instead she helped him to adjust the pillows so that he could sit more comfortably, steering the conversation in a different direction.
"Blame isn't important, Dean, but you really need to talk to your brother."
Dean shook his head. "I don't do warm, fuzzy moments."
Another stubborn Winchester, Missouri thought to herself. Out loud she responded, "I know you love your brother, and I know he loves you too, but you can't let things fester."
Dean snorted, "I'm not the one shooting people in the chest with rock salt then trying to blow their head off." The words were casually sarcastic, but Missouri could feel the underlying pain and doubt.
"Dean Winchester," she exclaimed. "Stop being stubborn. That boy loves you, and he'd never hurt you if he was in his right mind. Yes, he resents you sometimes, but you know you resent him too. Dean, think about it. You're the big brother, but in lots of ways you're the parent too. Your father isn't around to be the target, so it falls to you."
Seeing realization on his face, Missouri decided to end the lecture. "It doesn't have to be 'warm and fuzzy,' just talk to your brother, okay?"
"Okay," Dean agreed reluctantly. He paused, and Missouri tensed, following his thoughts. "Missouri, can I ask you something?"
Telling herself that she'd already chosen her allegiance, Missouri only took a moment to answer. "Of course."
"Was my father here?" Dean asked hesitantly, his eyes on the pill vial on the nightstand.
"Yes, he was," Missouri answered simply.
"Recently?" Dean asked in a strangled voice.
"Yes."
"Is he okay? Does he know what happened to us?"
"He's fine, Dean. He's still hunting for your mother's killer. And yes, he knows about Netawaka." Missouri struggled to keep her voice neutral, but knew she had failed when Dean's eyes shot up to meet hers.
"He knew we were coming here, didn't he? And he didn't stay." Missouri was almost knocked over by the pain and abandonment in his eyes and voice.
Sitting down on the bed, she pulled him gently into her arms. "Oh, honey, I don't know why your father couldn't stay," she answered truthfully. "But I do know that he loves you very much, and he's so proud of you, Dean."
He drew a shuddering breath and rested his head on her shoulder. Missouri drew him closer, rubbing his back. "It's okay to let go. You don't have to be strong for me."
Dean accepted her comfort for a moment before lifting his head. His eyes were red-rimmed but dry.
"I can't," he told her. "If I start I might not get control again. I have to stay strong – our lives might depend on it." He pulled away, lying back on the pillows.
"Okay, sweetie," Missouri nodded. "I suppose I understand, even if I don't agree. But will you at least stay here and let me help you and Sam until you're back on your feet?"
Dean eyed her, considering. "Why'd you let us come here, anyway?" he asked. "You must know that it could be dangerous for you. People that get too close to us have a tendency to die."
Missouri could sense genuine concern for her, and was touched. "I knew the danger," she admitted. "But you boys are special to me somehow. I feel closer to you than my own flesh and blood." She paused a moment to gather her thoughts before continuing. "I won't lie to you, Dean. I'm not old enough or crazy enough to say I don't care if I die, but you need to know that I understand the risk. If anything should happen to me, it is not your fault, yours or Sam's."
Dean's eyes were troubled, but he nodded, acknowledging her words. His thoughts went back to his father and the perceived betrayal, but he didn't speak.
"Why don't you try to rest," Missouri suggested, stroking his hair again, pleased when he didn't pull away. She pulled the chair closer and settled in, running her fingers through his hair and humming softly.
Dean's eyes opened. "Don't you know any Metallica?"
"Don't try my patience, boy," Missouri told him in mock anger. She was gratified when he laughed out loud before allowing his eyes to slide shut.
TBC