Title:You're Not Alone
Author: NobdyPtclr
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Sorry for the delay. Thank you again to all that have reviewed. The reviews are all that kept me going on this, as vicious writer's block set in. I'm still not thrilled with this chapter, but I guess it's time to let it go.
Chapter 8: Safe at Home
Sam spent over an hour detailing the Impala, working till he was sure that even Dean would be satisfied with the result. Basking in his success, he went back to the house to check on his brother. Stopping in the doorway to the guest room, his mouth dropped open in surprise to see Missouri sitting by the bed stroking his brother's hair as she hummed to him.
Recovering quickly, Sam stepped into the room. "You know, he'd never let you do that if he was awake," he smirked.
Missouri smiled to herself but didn't answer. Standing up, she put a finger to her lips and led Sam out of the room before speaking. "How did you make out?"
Sam smiled. "It looks like new," he told her proudly. "I put the bucket back under the sink."
"That's great, Sam," Missouri returned the smile. "You know he'll be asking about the car."
"Is there anything I can do to help you out?" Sam asked, leaning in the doorway.
"Actually, I have a client coming in about fifteen minutes. She's a regular, so I didn't feel right cancelling on short notice," she hurried to explain. "I was hoping you could sit with your brother until I'm done, then we'll see about lunch."
"No problem," Sam responded. "And I don't want you to feel like you can't work while we're here. We'll stay quiet and out of sight."
"Thanks, Sam, but it's just one this morning and one this afternoon at two, then I'll take a couple days off." She didn't explain that the appointments were sometimes draining and she'd rather save her strength for 'her' boys.
Sam shrugged. "Okay, so long as we're not in the way."
Missouri smiled, pulling him into a one-armed hug. "Never."
She led him upstairs to her room, showing him a small bookcase."I thought you might want something to keep you busy. Any of these books can give you some of the answers you're looking for." The shelves were stuffed with titles on meditation, psychic powers and unlocking psychic potential. Sam skimmed the titles before pulling a paperback from the end of the top shelf. He quirked an eyebrow at Missouri, holding up Montana Sky, a book by Nora Roberts.
Missouri laughed. "Okay, maybe not that one."
Echoing her laughter, Sam selected a different book at random. As he stood up they heard the doorbell ring. Missouri preceded him down the stairs and hurried to the door. As he ducked into the guest room he heard her greet her client.
"Good morning, Patty. Why don't you go right into the sitting room. I have family visiting; I'll just check on them and put the water on for tea."
Sam smiled, feeling warmth steal over him at her words as he settled in the chair by the bed. The doorbell had woken his brother, and Dean looked at him, rolling his eyes at the sappy expression on his face.
Missouri popped her head in. "Do you boys need anything before I start?"
"No ma'am," Sam answered, and Dean shook his head.
"Okay. I'll be about an hour." She disappeared toward the kitchen.
Sam wasn't anxious to get in another argument with his brother, so he focused on the book in his hands, The Psychic in You by Jeffrey Wands. As he opened the cover and started to read he could feel Dean's eyes on him.
"Sammy," Dean spoke hesitantly, with no sign of his earlier attitude in his voice. "I don't think I can manage moving over, but why don't you come around and sit on the bed. It'd be a lot more comfortable."
Recognizing this as being as close to an apology as Dean was likely to give, Sam accepted without comment, kicking off his shoes and adjusting the pillow before lowering himself gently onto the bed to avoid jostling his brother.
"Listen," Dean began, then fell silent. Sam watched him struggle, searching for the right words, and finally bailed him out with a sigh.
"Don't worry about this morning. I'd be crabby too if it was me that got all ripped up." He would never understand why Dean had such a hard time apologizing, but he accepted it as one of his brother's less-charming personality quirks.
"No Sammy," Dean tried again, "that's not it. I mean, yeah, I'm sorry for that, but I…" he cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself for listening to Missouri, but forcing himself to continue. "I wanted to make sure you know it wasn't your fault."
"Huh?" Sam felt like his brain had shut down after he heard the words 'I'm sorry' come out of his brother's mouth.
"Netawaka," Dean clarified. "It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have gone after that demon like that."
Dean wasn't looking at him, but Sam couldn't tell if it was intentional or if the stitches in his neck were preventing him from tuning his head. Moving further down the bed he forced eye contact before responding.
"Dean, I should have moved faster. I heard you yell and I tried to help, but I froze for a sec and the guy tripped me up."
"Listen, Sammy, you were great. You saved my ass. I'm the one that messed up." Dean broke eye contact, staring at the comforter. "I saw that kid and it was like I was eleven again. For a minute I thought he was you. Then I didn't think; I just ran in like an idiot." He closed his eyes, trying to block the memory of seven year-old Sam being attacked and to block his brother from seeing his emotions.
Sam lifted his hand and searched for an unbandaged part of his brother to pat reassuringly. He finally settled on a knee. "You saved that kid's life. That's nothing to be ashamed about; just like you saved mine fifteen years ago." He settled back into his original position, propping himself on his pillow. Some things were easier to say without eye contact. "Dean, those things that I said to you at the asylum," he started tentatively, "I really didn't mean them. You know the Doctor blew everything out of proportion, right?"
Dean sighed. He really was trying to take Missouri's advice and talk to his brother, but it was just as hard as he'd expected. Fighting his urge to brush Sam off, he tried to balance the truth and his desire not to hurt his little brother. "Sammy, I know you wouldn't intentionally hurt me, but you can't understand how it felt to hear those words coming out of your mouth. You called me pathetic, for christsake," Dean pointed out, wincing at the memory. "Even knowing you weren't responsible, that still came from your mind somewhere."
After carefully weighing his options, Sam decided to put all his cards on the table. "I understand more than you know. Remember 'Shapeshifter-Dean'? He didn't just steal your looks; he had your feelings and your memories too. He told me you have lots of issue with me."
Dean laced his good hand over the bandage on his neck, trying to turn and face his brother. "Sammy, come back where I can see you. Why didn't you say anything before?"
Sitting up, he met his big brother's eyes again and explained, "I didn't need to. Even if it's true it doesn't matter. Look at all the times you've been there for me. You got on that plane so I wouldn't have to go alone, you went back to our old house and you saved me from that poltergeist. For God's sake, Dean, you shot the window out of your car for me." They both smirked a little at that, and Sam took a deep breath before continuing. "You know what feels worse than you thinking I meant that stuff?" He didn't wait for an answer. "That I must not have done anything to make you realize that no matter how much I resent you, you're still my brother and I'd die for you." Sam looked away, ashamed, as tears filled his eyes.
"Sammy, don't. Please." Dean reached awkwardly with his good arm and pulled his brother into a loose embrace. "It's not your fault; none of it." He held Sam close, in spite of the pain it caused, until his breathing went back to normal. "Dude, you're crushing me," he complained lightly, breaking the tension. "And that's used up your quota of chick-flick moments for at least six months," he smirked.
Sam laughed, mostly in relief, as he lay back on the pillow. He felt like a weight had lifted off his chest. "Get some rest, Jerk. You're supposed to be recovering, not partying."
"Can you grab the aspirin out of my bag before you get comfortable?" Dean asked.
Sam heard the pain in his voice and scrambled to get the pills. Providing them with a chaser of water from the glass on the nightstand, he busied himself straightening the blankets until Dean shooed him away.
"Get back on the bed and relax. You look like shit, man."
Sam cuffed his brother on the side of the head before lying back down. "Dope."
"Geek," Dean responded with a smile. His stitches were tight and his body ached, but he closed his eyes as a feeling of contentment stole over him. Of course Sammy would leave him eventually – everyone did – but for now everything was good. The fear that had been growing since the asylum of him walking out the door at any minute was gone.
Sam watched over his brother until his breathing evened out and he relaxed in sleep, before picking up his book again. He looked at it in his hand and laid it aside, settling lower on the bed and closing his eyes. He turned his back to Dean, leaning against him gently so he'd feel movement if his brother woke up. A sense of comfort and security lulled him to sleep as well.
Missouri peeked into the guest room one last time before pulling the door mostly shut. She didn't allow it to close completely, fearing that even so small a sound would wake the brothers. She had finished with her first visitor, enjoyed her own lunch, and puttered quietly around the house, and still the boys slept. Missouri made her way to the front porch, planning to intercept her two o'clock appointment before they could ring the doorbell.
Sitting on the steps, she pulled her light sweater tighter around herself at the unexpected chill. The weather had been relatively mild all week, and she was surprised as the cold increased. Surprise turned to fear and anticipation as she got the sense of something or someone trying to communicate with her, a presence that did not seem entirely friendly. Looking around, she couldn't see anyone or anything unusual so she closed her eyes and let her mind search for the elusive contact.
"Missouri!" A voice called out.
The cold receded as quickly as it had come, and she looked up to see her appointment striding up the walkway. Hesitating for a moment, she tried to reach out with her mind once more for the otherworldly presence, but was unsuccessful. Shaking her head, Missouri climbed to her feet, reminding herself that while she certainly was a powerful psychic, she was not a medium. Sensing energies was one thing; communicating with them was a different story. She pushed the experience out of her mind and stepped forward to greet her client.
Sylvia Dawkins was really more than just a client; she was also a good friend. They had met five years earlier when Sylvia came for a reading, and an instant bond had formed. Sylvia still maintained a monthly appointment, but the women usually got together once a week for tea-and-talk sessions. This visit happened to be business, but Missouri headed for the kitchen to start tea, as she often did for longstanding clients.
"Keep your voice down, Sylvia," she cautioned. "I have guests sleeping in the back room."
Sylvia cocked an eyebrow, but didn't speak as she followed her hostess to the kitchen. It wasn't until the drinks were poured and they had settled in the sitting room that she asked her question.
"Is it your son?"
Missouri shook her head sadly. "No, it's not Michael. If it wasn't for his wife's letters I wouldn't hear from them at all." She sighed, remembering the arguments after her husband Tom's heart attack and resultant death. Michael had called her an embarrassment to the family and insisted that her psychic nonsense had caused the stress that had ultimately killed his father. The knowledge that Tom had supported her fully and was proud of her ability to help people was all that kept her going after Michael had attacked her with his hurtful words and stormed out, vowing never to come back. She felt lucky that his wife was more understanding and sent the occasional note with pictures of her grandchildren.
Missouri realized she'd been woolgathering when Sylvia patted her arm sympathetically. "I'm sorry to bring him up," she said softly, "but I hoped that things had changed. I just couldn't think of who else it could be." Sylvia knew about her estrangement from her family, and her face reflected Missouri's own pain.
"It's okay, Sylvia." Missouri gave her friend a reassuring smile. "The boys back there are like family to me. They couldn't mean more to me even if they were blood kin." She laughed as Sylvia eyed her expectantly. "Their father is an old friend, so when one of them got hurt and they needed a place to stay, I was happy to help."
"Are they local? Do I know the family? Where is their father? Why isn't he taking care of them?" The questions poured out of Sylvia's mouth and they both laughed.
Missouri tried to answer all the questions without providing too much information about the Winchester family. "They don't live around here, they just happened to be in the area, so I'm sure you don't know the family. Their father visits sometimes but, before this year, I hadn't seen the boys in a very long time. I suppose they're really young men, old enough to be on their own, which is good since their father is away on business a lot." She finished and looked pointedly at her friend. "Now, I think we have business of our own."
Sylvia accepted the redirection without question or complaint. She understood Missouri's desire for privacy – it had never gotten in the way of their friendship in the past, and it certainly wouldn't now. She leaned forward in her chair and changed the subject.
"Billy's not sure about the colleges he's applying to…"
Missouri settled back, giving her client her full attention, and the women talked for well over an hour.
When she walked Sylvia to the door, Missouri stepped out onto the porch behind her and waited for her friend to walk out of the yard before reaching out with her mind, searching for the presence that she had sensed earlier. After a few minutes of concentration she gave up, sighing in a combination of disappointment and relief. While she was curious to discover what or who had been trying to reach her, she was not anxious to tangle with an unfriendly spirit. The wards that she had put up inside the house should protect against unwelcome spirits entering, but they didn't extend outside. She shivered at the memory of the cold and stepped quickly into the safety of her home.
TBC
A/N: Sorry if this was too much Missouri for anyone – I thought she deserved some attention, but then I had a hard time writing it. We're into the home stretch. One or two more chapters, maybe an unanswered question or two for a sequel, if I'm so inclined. Thanks again for reading and reviewing!