A/N: Okay, I really need to get into the habit of updating like a normal person instead of a monkey on crack. I swear I'm writing my little fanny off! This chapter sort of flowed out of me, and I didn't feel like proofreading it, so I apologize if it's a bit annoying. Hopefully it brings it all to the table for ya'alls. I don't think my previous statement made any sense, but I'm hopped up on Nyquil and decongestants so excuse me.

Reviews would make me cough less, and would be greatly appreciated!

Chapter 7- The Guilt

"Boy, you better have some good reason for waking me!"

Dean grinned. "Hey, Missouri, didn't you know we were going to call?"

"Don't mean I didn't wish you wouldn't!"

The older Winchester puzzled out her words, smiling. Missouri could be unpredictable late at night.

"You got anything to say, or am I just gonna have to do my whole Patricia Arquette thing, as you would say?"

Dean rolled his eyes, mouthing words at Sam, who sat beside him thoroughly enjoying his older brother's dilemmas.

"I'm gonna whack you with my wooden spoon if I ever hear you thinking that again, young man!"

Dean jumped, the tinny voice from his cell phone leaping out at him. "Missouri, I really—"

"Wish I wouldn't do that? Too bad. Now, hurry up and tell me your story, my feet are gettin' cold,"

"Don't you—"

"Already know? 'Course. But I want to hear your version of it."

Sighing, Dean rolled his eyes yet again at his brother. He shot him a look saying, I can not believe you made me call her.

"Ah ha! So you didn't want to talk to me after all! What is it with the younger generations these days? Never respectin' their elders…"

"Missouri? Can you help us or not?"

"Why don't you tell me exactly what you want me to do?"

Dean relayed his thoughts to Missouri, reflecting on the curse put upon the family generations ago.

"It's a gypsy curse, isn't it?"

"How are we supposed to know?"

"Didn't yo' father teach you nothing? The gypsies were a powerful bunch back then. Even the witches couldn't have made a curse last this long. If you got all your information straight, then this little girl don't have much time,"

"I know that, Missouri," Dean sounded frustrated, and he could feel Missouri picking up his vibes. "But what I don't know is how to stop it!"

The psychic was silent for a moment, and Dean could hear the static crackling through the line. "Have you tried calling your father?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "He hasn't picked up. Ever. So why would he do it now?"

"I'm sensing some resentment, Dean,"

"Can we do the whole Oprah thing later, please? I really don't feel like finding another bloodless body today,"

"Are you saying you need my help?"

"Yeah." Dean grunted, examining his nails. She's gonna hold this over me for the rest of my life.

"Now, why would I do a thing like that?"

"Huh?"

"Tell Sam I'll be there shortly. It shouldn't be too long of a drive." And with that, there was a click. Dean stared at his phone, then looked at Sam.

"I didn't even tell her where we were," Dean looked nonplussed, and Sam had to chuckle.

"I don't think you needed to, dude,"

…………….

"What kind of a place is this?" Missouri's voice rang at them through the door of their motel room. Hurriedly, Dean threw on a shirt. They had taken all the information they needed from the library and caught a catnap before the psychic arrived.

"I can not believe that people come here for vacations!" She boomed, patting Dean on the cheek and brushing past him. "You need a shave, boy!"

"Hey, Missouri," Sam came out of the bathroom, smile widening.

"Hey, yourself, Samuel! What on earth possessed you to become this skinny? You look like you need a good bucket of fried chicken!"

"How was your drive?" Dean asked courteously, pulling out an overstuffed chair for the older woman.

"Fine, fine, it's all fine," She muttered distractedly, peering into corners of the room. "I am so glad there ain't rats here, 'cause I was just 'bout ready to head back to Kansas when I pulled into this here parking lot,"

The boys sat down on the bed across from her, looking uncomfortable. Sam's eyes wandered to the random boxers crumpled on the floor next to the bed, and the two shotguns nestled neatly into the crevice between the table and the wall. Dean, on the other hand, remembered the boxes of stale, moldy food hidden beneath the bed.

"If they find out 'bout that, they'll make you pay," Missouri reprimanded him sternly. "And don't even think about rolling those eyes at me, son!"

"I—"

Sam cut Dean off. "Missouri, what can you tell us about this curse?"

She regarded him and his brother closely, taking in the haggard features of the young men. What a toll this case is taking on them. "I can tell you it's something bad,"

"How bad?" Dean asked, his heart skipping a beat.

"Bad enough for me to be able to sense it just driving into this tiny town,"

"Does that happen a lot?" Sam asked curiously, leaning forward.

Missouri sighed. "No. In fact, the last time I felt something so strongly was decades ago…I felt something like this from your old house, after it was burned down,"

Silence reigned over the hotel room as the Winchesters digested the information.

"Are you saying that the thing that killed Mom and Jess—"

"No, Sam," Missouri looked him in the eye, not unkindly. "It's not a demon, remember? It's a curse. A bad one, at that. Some pretty black magic made this, and it's going to take some heavy magic to take it back,"

"So, there is a way to stop it before it kills again, right?" Dean's voice shook in the slightest, and Missouri did not miss it.

"You need to stop blaming yo'self for this, Dean! How could you have stopped it?" Missouri paused for a second, obviously delving into Dean's mind. "Oh, now, come on! That's nonsense! How could you have known it was something like this! You're helping a little girl now, and that's a good thing, boy. Don't let your guilt cloud your mind, now,"

Dean stared, utterly dumbstruck. Sam glanced at his brother and cleared his throat. "Okay, so we know that Jamie's still at the police station, and she's okay for now. I'm guessing that they're waiting for foster care to pick her up,"

"We're gonna need her for this to work," Missouri pulled out an ink-stained paper from her bag. "This is an ancient spell used by the witches to curse objects. I can manipulate it to take away a curse with some fancy footwork, but we need kin of the cursed to be sure of its success,"

An unworded question floated through the air, and Missouri latched on to it. "No, boys, I'm not sure if it's going to work. Curses are tricky things, and they can also backfire pretty easily. If we make a mistake somewhere, we could release a whole lot of evil into the world. You can't get rid of normal curses easily, but gypsy curses are even worse…this is all we've got,"

Dean ran his hands through his hair. "Alright, let me just go get some coffee then we'll figure out how to get Jamie out of the cop hellhole,"

He stood, grabbing his wallet. Sam made as if to stand after him, but Missouri motioned him down with a subtle movement. Taking the hint, Sam rested on the bed, eyeing his brother suspiciously. Dean slammed the door behind him, and Missouri reclined in her chair.

"Your brother needs to be alone now, baby. He's takin' this hard,"

"Why, though? It's not like it's his fault,"

Missouri shook her head. "He thinks he could've saved a lot of people from suffering if he caught this curse beforehand. Dean's stubborn like that, stubborn as a mule. He gets that from your daddy, you know,"

"Missouri?"

"Yes, baby,"

"Have you ever gotten rid of a curse before?"

"Yes, but nothing this complex. You have to understand, I deal mostly with the lesser evil. Some of the gypsies way back when were pure cruelty, and their magic lived on long after they passed. A lot of the evil things we see today are direct descendents of the old days. Now, that being said, not all gypsies were bad. But the ones that were…whew. You wouldn't want to tangle with them, boy,"

"Do you…know…if it's going to work?"

Missouri seemed amused, and she propped her chin up on her hand. "What do you think I am? I ain't no God, of course I don't KNOW if it'll work,"

"But, what's your feeling?"

Solemnly, she looked Sam in the eye. And he saw the truth.

"Sam, if it doesn't work, we can always try other things…" But the hesitation in her voice was evident.

"Missouri…I don't think Dean'll be able to handle it if we can't save Jamie,"

"Your brother's stronger than you think, and you know that. He'll find a way." Missouri smiled on the outside, intent on calming the youngest son of John Winchester. But on the inside, she was praying.

Lord, let this work out. For the sake of Dean's sanity and the sake of his faith, let it work.

…………………..

Dean walked. And walked. And walked. He passed two coffee shops along the way—who knew the boonies liked caffeine so much?—but he kept going. He kept going until he was outside the apartment complex where they had picked Jamie up.

He sat on a bench across the street, seeing the yellow police tape fluttering in the breeze. And sitting there, Dean felt his sorrows wash over him.

His job was all about detachment, but Dean was feeling particularly attached to the young girl who had lost so much.

What would it be like to watch people around you die? The people you love dropping like flies.

Dean was never a sentimental sort of guy. He preferred what Sam called his fuck and run method of living his life. He drifted from place to place, he solved case after case, killed demons and witches and shtrigas and skinwalkers and god knows what else…and he saved lives.

But somewhere along the way, he felt as though he lost his humanity.

Shooting that shapeshifter in St. Louis, the one with his face, numbed Dean to the pains of the world.

The creature looked like him, talked like him, acted like…an asshole. But the act of killing it, killing a human look-alike—Dean expected it to be more painful for him.

It frightened him when it wasn't.

And now, a child's life was at stake because of Dean's mistake. I knew I should've looked into CeeCee Durham's death. Dad always said to trust your instincts, and I just ignored mine.

Great mess you've gotten yourself into, Dean. You do a bangin' good job.