Missouri hasn't changed since I saw her when I was a kid. She looks surprisingly young, but I know she's pushing sixty.

Fortunately for me, she has any of the paperwork she needs to legally buy guns, so I go out with her and get another shotgun and a Taurus. She has a frozen lasagna she wants me to make us for supper as she goes out to visit a friend.

I throw it in the oven and flip on the TV and scour the news for anything about myself. Lawrence is a big place, I didn't expect to see myself on the first news station I check. It's a drawing, probably from the officer I spoke to earlier. They list my crimes: unlicensed guns, stolen car, credit-card fraud. They say I'm under the pseudonym 'Tonya,' and I laugh.

I turn to a ghost hunting show and laugh at their absurdity until the oven beeps, almost at the same moment as Missouri comes back. "Turn off that nonsense," she says, "I only keep that TV for the news." I reach for the remote and click it off.

"The lasagna just came out," I say.

"Plates are in the cupboards," she says, taking place-mats and napkins, sitting at her dining room table and looking at me until I set our places with dishes and silverware. I take the lasagna out of the kitchen and set it on an oven mitt. I serve Missouri first, then sit and dish myself a heaping plate.

"How were your friends?" I ask her.

"One friend," she says, "And she's fine. Having trouble with her son that she won't tell me about. I try to help her with him regardless."

I nod. I admire her use of her gifts. Just as soon as I wonder if she can help me develop mine as she shakes her head.

"You're a seer, sweetheart. Not a psychic. I wouldn't know where to start with you. I do know the family of the last great seer, though. I'm sure they'd love to see you." She then pauses and looks up from her food. "Your parents did tell you..."

I notice the change in her tone and stop smiling politely. "I'm not sure what you're referring to."

"They haven't. They must not have known."

I shake my head. "Anything they didn't know, Castiel would have."

"Then they kept it from you. And wrongly," she said, "The angel especially. A tricky bunch, them."

I smile and keep my opinion of the angels to myself. She smirks at me, and I remember that I can't keep anything to myself here.

"What were they keeping from me?" I ask her.

"The seers are just vessels, and as such there can only be one at a time. They're usually born to families with a significant Biblical bloodline, such as yours with the lineage of Cain. The other folks are about as cursed as the Winchesters, if you can believe it. They're direct descendants of Delilah."

I tilt my head slightly, a habit I'm trying to break. I recently realized who I learned it from, and I don't have any desire to be anything like my namesake. Maybe that's harsh, but I'm trying not to be who everyone says I am, and just calling me by my name is calling me someone I'm not.

"What are their names?" I ask her, taking our plates to the sink. She follows me with the leftover lasagna and dishes it into a cleaned butter tub.

"Well, the other seer was called Efram," she says, "After his angel. I think he was alone those last few years, though. He seemed... depressed."

"Alone."

"His angel died."

I nod and briefly remember the stories I'd been told of when my angel was dead and I brought him back.

"Not everyone is that lucky," she says, drying the dishes I've washed. "I'll find you their address," she says, "The Chase family."

She gives it to me as I set myself up a bed on the couch. I start to thank her when I'm interrupted by a ringing phone. I look warily at it.

"I think we both know who that is," Missouri says.

I look down at the couch, where it beckons, and instead fold the blanket back up. I quickly pack while I hear Missouri talking to my dad.
"Of course I did," she says, "She's still here, now, but I'm not stopping her from leaving. And before you ask, she didn't say where she was going."

I look up at her and she winks at me. I kiss her on the cheek as I walk past her and out the door, my second-hand duffel full and a knife and a gun at either hip. I look back at the warm light of her house once before walking away down the street. The night is dark, besides the orange street lights. I try to avoid people as I walk, looking into cars occasionally to determine their worth to their owners. I would hate to take one that looks like someone lives in it.

I eventually find an old and rusty Honda parked by the street. There's a little garbage inside, but not much. I pick the lock with a long metal wire I found on the street and make quick work of hot wiring it.

I pull out of the city as midnight passes and drive south. I look at the paper Missouri gave me. Texas here I come.