When the need for an escape became too great to ignore in the past, Sam had driven to a quiet place, far removed from society, to gather his thought and seriously think about his life. Back at school he'd found that the janitor's closet was a great place to do just that, especially after the janitor had been fired. Since going out on the road with his brother, however, he'd found it increasingly difficult to get away, especially when in a new and unfamiliar town.

So he went straight to Madeline's small shop, hoping to find refuge until he could wrap his mind around Dean's insensitivity. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to tell the psychic, was actually pretty sure that he didn't want her to know anything at all, but had no where else to go. He headed up the front walk as the door swung open.

"Didn't expect to see you here again," Madeline commented as Sam walked through the door and crossed the room to lean up against the counter, "you left in kind of a huff."

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

Madi shrugged. "No problem. I got on your nerves. That happens a lot with me. Did you talk to Dean?"

"Do you really have to ask?"

"No, but I find that asking is a lot nicer than blurting out a bunch of personal information. What brings you by?"

Sam shook his head. "You say that like you really have no idea. It's Dean."

"He wants to try and make things right?"

"No, Madi, he messed up my life. And he did it without warning."

"He's in your body," the woman smiled, "that should have given you a heads-up. And if it's just about the hair-thing, Sam, you know it looks fine and it'll grow back out."

"It's not just the hair-thing," he lowered his voice, "it's the sex-thing. I don't mind if he's humping everything in sight in his own body, but mine? That's a totally different matter."

Madi actually laughed. "You really need to relax, Sammy. Laugh a little. It couldn't hurt. It's not his fault if he made a mistake, he just-"

"He sure makes a lot of them," Sam mumbled, "a whole lot."

Madeline's expression softened and she grabbed his hand. "You can't blame him for these things," she said solemnly, her voice barely a whisper, "especially if he didn't know."

"I really don't think he cares, Madi. In fact, he's probably laughing it up back at the inn, just having a grand old time. And he probably did get a tattoo. At least I care about this problem. At least I'm trying to find a way to fix it."

"You think this doesn't worry him? You think he hasn't lost sleep? He was up half the night, Sammy, tossing and turning, just trying to remember if your father ever mentioned anything at all about soul-suckers. He searched the web, that beat-up old journal, everything. He even made a midnight library run. He's scared, too, he just deals with it differently. Humor and jokes. Maybe a little fun on the side. It's how he copes."

"He doesn't cope. He ignores the issue and torments me. He's not like other people."

"No," she muttered sadly, shaking her head, "he's not. And you still haven't seen that."

Sam narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"There are a lot of things you can see when you look at someone, Sam," Madeline said as she took his hand and ushered him out the door, "a true soul isn't one of them." The door shut in his face, the lock turning of its own accord, and the shop fell dark.

Sam stood outside the psychic's small store for a few moments before returning to the car and heading back to the inn, still a little reluctant to face his brother.